


Till There Was You

by Jwink85



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Affection, Alternate Universe, Canon-Typical Violence, Hannibal Lecter is the Chesapeake Ripper, M/M, Murder, Romance, Slow Burn, Trust Issues, Young Will Graham
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-04
Updated: 2020-08-30
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:22:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 9
Words: 38,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24543808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jwink85/pseuds/Jwink85
Summary: Hannibal finds that his life becomes significantly more interesting after he catches a curly-haired interloper; inviting him into his home.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 78
Kudos: 419





	1. hannibal

**Author's Note:**

> I had fun with this one, though I'm still intimidated with writing Hannibal fic, lol.
> 
> It's fun getting to write about Baltimore, though. Representing Charm City, hon. 😆 
> 
> Enjoy! ❤

_**Then there was music and wonderful roses** _  
_**They tell me** _  
_**In sweet fragrant meadows** _  
_**Of dawn and dew** _

_**There was love all around** _  
_**But I never heard it singing** _  
_**No, I never heard it at all** _  
_**Till there was you** _

_**\- Peggy Lee, Till There Was You** _

* * *

They were calling for rain the night Hannibal finally discovered the creature who'd been disturbing his trash cans for weeks. 

The weather was typical for Baltimore in the summer with rain in the forecast; humid, still; the sky an ominous black as the bloated clouds drifted over. The stars disappeared, pushed into the darkness, and all across the city a hush fell; waiting and holding its breath. 

Hannibal had chosen that night to hunt, having felt restless after a particularly tedious session with Franklyn rounding off an already trying day. It made him wonder once again why he simply didn't take care of the rotund, neurotic gentleman himself; clearly he'd be doing the man a favor, but that possibility hadn't stoked his appetite. Besides, it wasn't as if Franklyn was rude, exactly -

His secretary, however, had been a different story. 

"This is most inconvenient, I'm afraid," he'd said just that morning, his tone smooth but having exhibited that telltale pull to his mouth that came about when discourtesy was visited upon him. He'd regarded his young secretary for a moment, taking in her tailored suit with the clean lines and had privately lamented.

It had been hard enough finding her in the first place. Even after interviewing countless applicants, she'd been lacking but more suitable than the rest. He didn't want to go through that again. 

But now she was leaving her position abruptly, and without giving two weeks' notice, and really, was that asking too much? It was standard workplace etiquette, after all. 

She had given him a look of subtle guilt, though she'd exuded an air of stubbornness as well - a quality hannibal had appreciated before it'd been directed at him. 

"I really do apologize, Dr. Lecter, but it can't be helped. My fiance doesn't want to wait anymore, and frankly, neither do I." At the time, she'd been gathering her personal affects and putting them in a box. "Besides, I'm ready to start a family and be done with all this... my biological clock is so loud it's keeping me up at night." She'd tried to laugh but it had tapered off when she'd noticed that hannibal wasn't particularly amused. 

"I'm sorry," she'd whispered. "It isn't personal, of course."

"No, of course not," the doctor had replied. "And i do wish you all the best. When are you leaving?"

"This weekend," she'd smiled. "He bought us plane tickets to England. He has family there."

"Following your heart across the sea," he'd said, finally softening somewhat, trying to put her at her ease but already planning. "A romantic flight of fancy, Ms. Beech?"

"I guess you could say so," she'd agreed, cheeks flushing a pretty carnation pink. 

When hannibal had pulled the aforementioned heart from her chest later on that night, heat lightning striking in the sky seen from her apartment window, he'd been overtaken with a feeling of romanticism himself. A strange sensation he'd thought, with just a touch of acute whimsy.

And that feeling had stayed with him until he'd heard the clatter and din outside of his home, and he'd realized that his trash cans were being tampered with - again. Reluctantly, he'd left the tempting organ behind and had gone to investigate, wiping his hands on a pristine dish towel. 

The first time the trash cans had been disturbed, hannibal chalked it up to rats; a rather distasteful notion, of course, but not farfetched when living in Charm City. He had merely righted them and gone about his way. The second time, however, he'd deigned to inspect further and having found no claw or teeth marks on the cans or bag, he'd ascertained that he was dealing with a different beast entirely; namely the two-legged, upright kind. 

Annoyed, he'd purchased a container to put his trash in; one with a padlock. He intended to unlock it on the mornings the trash was picked up. Before he was able to do this, however, the lock had been picked and the trash disturbed once again. The thief had even taken care to leave the lock resting on top of the container; almost like a gift. 

This, too, had annoyed him, but he'd also been vaguely amused. He couldn't help but think that the interloper was mocking him in some way. After all, it wasn't like there was a shortage of trash cans to pillage; why go to this sort of trouble unless one wanted to make a point? 

He also had to figure that whomever he was dealing with was reasonably clever. Likewise, he was a tad concerned. Was he being targeted for a reason that could lead to trouble down the line?

Not that he was foolish enough to throw away certain articles along with the everyday trash, but still. 

The air was dense when he approached the alley running behind his home. The lights from the impressive structure were golden as they splashed to light the way, dying as he reached the alley proper. He went without fear, muscles taut and ready to spring into action if need be; scuffling sounds emanating in the heavy darkness. 

His footsteps were light, barely registering sound as he approached; a well-trained predator slipping into its natural gait, the whole affair like a savage dance that made hannibal's mouth water. He stopped when the sounds stopped, and he took that opportunity to lift his nose and sniff the air. 

Fear, acrid and strong. It was laced in the creature's sweat, along with the scent of motor oil and earth. It intensified when he heard a metallic clatter, and then -

"Fuck." The word was whispered by a voice that was undeniably male and young. Hannibal's eyes widened slightly. He hadn't expected an adolescent. 

His interest thoroughly piqued, Hannibal rushed the alley now, rounding the fence and giving the intruder no time to hide or run. Swiftly, he clicked on the flashlight he'd brought and held it aloft, illuminating the stranger's face. Wide blue eyes stared back at him; frightened, yes, but also filled with obvious defiance. 

The rest of the face could only be considered cherubic, almost too pretty to belong to a boy. It was framed with wild dark curls. The boy regarded him, unflinching, and did not try to run. Hannibal, in turn, almost sounded grave when he finally spoke:

"I'm going to need you to come with me."

\-----

The boy didn't resist when he was led into Hannibal's kitchen, nor did he look around in curiosity. Rather, he kept his eyes trained on the floor. It would seem that after his display of subdued defiance in the alley, he had retreated into himself. 

_Or he isn't fond of eye contact,_ Hannibal thought, noticing that the boy went out of his way to keep his eyes averted now. 

He was slight of build, like a gangling half-grown fawn; slender arms and neck. He looked like he was meant to be pale, with his clear blue eyes, and air of delicacy, but his skin was tanned; too red on his cheeks. He wore tattered jeans, battered red Converse, and an oversized tshirt that looked stiff from sweat; clutching a lumpy, beat-up backpack. 

His smell was still fearful, and he radiated weariness. But, still, he didn't seem weak or desperate. Just physically spent. 

"You may wash your hands over here," Hannibal said, indicating the sink while putting the flashlight away. He slipped his apron back on and tied it. 

There was a pause, vague confusion passing over the boy's face for a moment when he looked up. 

"What?" 

He spoke softly; an all-together pleasant voice that was still in the midst of changing. Half-boy, half-man.

"I imagine you must be hungry," Hannibal replied, "if you were willing to prowl through my trash. I thought you might like to help prepare an actual meal."

"Sing for my supper?" the boy asked wryly. 

Amused, hannibal nodded. "So to speak."

The boy met his eyes for half a beat before they skittered away. "Aren't you going to call the police?"

"Do you mean me harm?" 

A petulant pursing of lips. "I could ask you the same thing." After a pause, his tone was more subdued. "No, I don't want to hurt anyone. I just wanted to find something to eat."

"There's no shortage of food banks and shelters in this city," Hannibal replied, turning his focus back to the heart laid out on his cutting board. "I'm curious why you wouldn't seek help there instead of turning to garbage."

The boy clenched his jaw, and Hannibal noticed the way his hands curled into fists. It would seem he'd struck a nerve. 

"Those places are for people in need. I'm not going to use up their resources if I don't have to."

Hannibal stared at him, intrigued by this answer. The boy was very thin, his clavicle sharp; bones too prominent in his face. 

"You can fend for yourself," he said.

"Damn straight i can. I have been for weeks; why stop now?"

Hannibal's mouth twitched, taking note of the boy's almost imperceptible pride. It was fledgling and buried, but undeniably there. He picked up his knife and the boy flinched; a quicksilver movement. Anyone else probably would've missed it. 

"Please," Hannibal said, thoroughly enjoying himself now. "Wash up, and then you can cut the vegetables. I wouldn't mind the company."

The boy stared, eyes shadowed by long, dark eyelashes. "You don't even know my name."

"That's easily remedied." Slipping his knife into the pink flesh of Ms. Beech's heart, Hannibal suddenly felt very at ease. "To ease your suspicion of my intentions, I'll introduce myself first. I'm Hannibal."

"Hannibal what?"

"Lecter. Dr. Hannibal Lecter." When silence fell between them, hannibal leaned forward slightly, like they were sharing an amusing secret. "Now it's your turn."

Instead of obliging, the boy gestured to the heart being cut by Hannibal's expert hand. "Is that what we're having?"

"Amongst other things, yes."

Eyes narrowed, the boy studied the organ at length before his pink tongue poked between his lips and slid along them. Hannibal watched, momentarily transfixed. His focus broke when the boy lay his backpack aside, slowly, and with all the timidity of a woodland creature, moved toward the sink; taking care never to take his eyes off Hannibal. 

Only when he started the water did the boy turn away, and Hannibal had to give credit to his bravery. He got the impression it didn't stem from stupidity. 

The boy washed his hands for several minutes, no doubt relishing the opportunity to do so in an actual kitchen instead of a gas station bathroom or a fast food restaurant; depending on where he'd been and where he'd come from. 

Finally, the water shut off and the boy stood there dripping into the sink. He glanced at the dish towel laid out on the counter, pure and white, but didn't reach for it. 

"You may use the towel," Hannibal said when it became obvious the boy wasn't going to ask.

"Thanks," he said softly, taking it up; head bent in what could be perceived as a posture of surrender, neck bared with his hair curling prettily against his nape. Turning, he was looking down again when he spoke. "Will."

"Hmm?" Hannibal said, though he'd heard the boy plain as day. 

"My name, it's Will," the boy replied, only a little bit louder. He didn't offer his last name but Hannibal decided not to pry.

Outside, there was a tremendous crack of lightning and the rain that had been threatening the city for the whole day finally began to fall in violent sheets. The boy, skittish, looked up at Hannibal with terrified eyes and now their gazes held. 

"Well, Will," Hannibal commented, liking the flavor of the boy's name on his tongue, "it's fortuitous that i found you when I did, don't you think? It would seem that the night is suddenly unfit for neither man nor beast."


	2. Will

Wolf Trap, Virginia was about an hour from Baltimore, give or take, if traffic was kind. 

Which it never was, and Will knew this only too well. 

He also knew that he should've been more concerned about the perils of hitchhiking but that hadn't stopped him from thumbing a ride, several rides, actually; anything to help him get away from the white house situated in the big field. 

Never mind that hitchhiking was illegal and dangerous, he'd told himself as he'd packed his bag; several tshirts, another pair of jeans, underwear and socks; toiletries, the money he'd earned from doing odd jobs and working the counter at the Baskin Robbins the previous summer. 

Now _that_ had been 31 flavors of bullshit, even if he had been paid under the table because he was a minor and the owner was friends with his old man - 

And most likely a pederast, but that was water under the bridge at this point as far as Will was concerned. His money was good, and it helped put miles between himself and what he wished to escape. 

That was enough for now. 

The first person who'd picked him up was normal enough; a middle-aged woman wearing a pink visor and listening to Bobby Vinton.

"So, where are you headed?" she'd asked. 

"Baltimore," he'd replied, hands clasped in his lap and trying to maintain good posture; wanting to appear older and more confident than he really was. "But I'm okay with going as far as you're willing to take me."

"Oh, aren't you polite?" she'd replied, laughing while she'd fished out a Virginia Slim from her purse. She'd steered with her knees while clumsily lighting it. "Does your mama know that you're out here hitching rides from perfect strangers?"

Will had taken a deep breath before answering that question. 

"My mother passed away when I was a baby, ma'am."

A sudden intake of breath and then the inevitable:

"Ohhh, I'm so sorry to hear that. You poor thing!"

The next car that had picked him up had been a couple in their late 30s; irreverent and giddy over picking up a lone kid at a crowded rest stop. The woman had turned around in her seat and studied him, bleach blonde hair blowing around in the wind from the open window. 

"What's your name?"

"Brandon," Will had lied easily. 

"Honey, his name is Brandon," the woman had whispered, nudging the guy behind the wheel; a stoic man with mirrored sunglasses and the beginnings of a beer belly. She'd turned back to Will, eyes wide; a grown woman with glittery eyeshadow. 

"I'm Cephonia, and this is Terrence," she'd offered, poking the man again. 

A strange feeling had bloomed in Will's gut at that point, but he'd kept a cool and reasonably detached facade; hand drifting over the pocket where he had a knife in reserve. Just in case. 

"It's nice to meet you." 

"So," Cephonia had practically purred, leaning her cheek on the seat back, "You're going to Baltimore."

Will had nodded, the sugar from the sno balls he'd purchased at the Royal Farms still sweet on his tongue; coconut mellow and gentle. His gut had continued to twist while his hand had tightened on the knife. 

"Got family up there, huh?"

He'd nodded again, but the lie wasn't as easy this time, not with the way she was looking at him. 

Her eyes had squinted at this, possibly from the buttery sunlight falling through the Chevy's windows, but more likely from the smell of falsehood. She'd also smiled, Cheshire Cat confident. 

"If you have time, there's a Super 8 on the way that's real nice, sweetie."

And then she'd winked, which was the most grotesque thing Will had ever seen in his life, and he'd helped his father gut plenty of fish in his 15 years. Still, he'd maintained a cool visage, though his rapid heartbeat was enough to damn near kill him; knuckles whitening when his hand had clenched. 

"Thanks very much for the offer, ma'am, but my mom's expecting me. It's her birthday tomorrow, you see."

At this, Terrence had planted a meaty hand on Cephonia's thigh and said softly:

"Let him alone, sugar babe. He ain't for us."

Will had sounded calm when he'd spoken at the next red light, "you can let me out here, that's just fine."

Terrence hadn't argued though Cephonia had pursed her thin, frosted lips like a sloppy baby; clearly displeased when the car had stopped and let Will out on the corner in a town called Columbia. 

He'd stood on the corner between an upscale set of apartments and a sprawling mall before he'd continued on; sun beating his back and the humidity clogging his nose. His pack had felt heavy but his relief was heavier. 

After that, he'd walked the rest of the way to Baltimore proper, which wasn't an easy feat in the height of summer with the clouds slung low and heavy with rain. The world was sluggish and gray, and he'd traipsed the highway with a shirt drenched in sweat and a mind struggling to leave the life he'd abandoned in the dust. 

Several cars stopped to offer him a ride but he'd waved them away; cephonia's glittered eyelids fresh in his memory:

_"There's a super 8 that's on the way that's real nice, sweetie."_

He'd also felt remorse for lying about his dead mother, but that couldn't be helped anymore. 

No, best to just keep on moving. 

Baltimore had been disappointing the first time he'd laid eyes on it, and that sentiment hadn't changed the second or third time he'd had the presence of mind to lift his heavy head and truly look. 

The buildings were historic, most of them smacking of old world architecture interspersed with sleek modernism, but it wasn't pretty all the same; most of it, anyway. 

The Inner Harbor, though, was arresting enough, when he'd finally reached it. The wide space broken by the green, stretching water, smelling of rich salt; rippling away toward an urban skyline of jagged peaks. He'd stood at the edge of the bay on the red bricks and watched the expanse run away from him, and he'd almost managed to take a full, cleansing breath. 

Until nightfall had happened, of course. 

The night was thick in Baltimore, far from his home with his father snoozing close by; smack dab in the living room and right by the front door. It was thick because it was full of the unknown, and in the unexplored nights the darkness was full of eyes that watched him as he moved, but Will had soldiered on. The first night he'd found himself outside of the Visionary Art Museum, and he'd curled up next to a giant egg covered over with tiny mirrors. 

He'd considered getting a cheap motel room, but that notion was quickly quashed. Will was almost positive that minors couldn't rent rooms, and if he'd said he was doing it on behalf of a parent that would just raise more questions he wasn't prepared to answer. 

Mainly because he didn't want to. He didn't want to answer to anyone anymore; not unless they were worthy of questioning him. 

No, instead he'd spent the first days away from home learning the rhythm of the streets and city; keeping a low profile and mainly subsisting on watching the water drift and living off the food he'd squirreled away. But soon enough his food stores ran low, and he was compelled to seek additional sustenance. 

He'd considered going to a soup kitchen or food pantry, but when he'd approached such establishments he'd seen the truly hungry and in need, and he couldn't say that his hunger was as desperate as theirs. He'd chosen to run from his home and a kitchen filled with food - these people had probably been thrust into this life of want through no choice of their own. He couldn't in good conscience take out of their bowl what he didn't actually deserve. 

Rather, he'd taken to wandering the streets and learning the lay of the land; not above picking through trash cans to supplement his dwindling food stores. 

He'd started with restaurants, particularly those that had scents that drew him in, but soon enough he'd learned they were too much of a liability; too many people, and security cameras besides. He would be better off seeking out private residences. 

So he'd taken to the streets, worn-out Converse cradling the blisters on his feet, and before too long they'd scabbed over and become thicker skin that made his footsteps less agonizing. He'd ignored the curious, sometimes suspicious looks from passersby as he'd traipsed the streets of Baltimore's more affluent communities, wandering Federal Hill and beyond, until -

What had initially pulled him toward the brown house with the columns by the front door was quite simple: it had seemed warm. The amber light falling from the windows appeared different from the other impressive homes lining the street; more inviting, somehow. 

When he drew closer, the other thing that had struck Will was the scent of cooking emanating from the structure; everyday, it would seem, and it smelled so good. It curled into his nose and made his mouth wet, and this too enhanced the home's appeal. He could imagine a happy family living there and sitting around the table in the evening, sharing a meal and the stories of their days. 

This thought had made his gut tense, but it hadn't been altogether unpleasant. 

So, he'd started visiting the house every day, to watch and assess, hungry at the sight of it and almost subsisting on his strange fantasies.

It wasn't long before he saw the tall, imposing gentleman who lived there; handsome, he supposed, with high cheekbones and an almost enigmatic quality about the way he looked at the world. He wore decadent suits no matter the weather or time of day, and he drove a Bentley. He fairly dripped elegance, and his posture was regal and undeniably confident. Will was reasonably intimidated by him, but fascinated all the same. 

He also seemed to live alone, though he had his fair share of guests; also belonging to the upper echelon of society, if their luxury cars and designer clothes were any indication. They'd show up in droves and stay for hours, very pleased when they left, crowing into the night about "presentation" and "have you ever tasted anything so delicious? How does he do it, you think?"

Soon, Will couldn't hold back, both from his hunger and gnawing curiosity, and he'd approached the house one late evening; the night jasmine blooming in the man's yard open and wafting its perfume into the heavy summer air. He'd tiptoed around the house into the alley and quickly found the trashcans. Trash pickup had occurred just the day before so he wasn't sure there'd be anything, but if there was, at least it would be reasonably fresh. 

He'd had to snort a soft laugh at that. Fresh garbage. Was there any such thing?

The first thing he'd noticed upon lifting the lid was that even the man's trash seemed orderly; neatly tied up and the receptacle strangely clean. Heart pounding, he'd carefully opened the bag and sifted through it, happy to see that it was dry; filled with coffee bags amongst other things - a type he'd never heard of; upscale. His father was a Folgers man through and through, but clearly this man wasn't. 

Next came a circular listing the sales going on at a local grocery store - a Food Lion not too far away. Will almost laughed at that, too. Clearly, this man was not shopping at that sort of place; no, he had Whole Foods or Trader Joe's written all over him. It did afford an interesting tidbit though, a name, and when Will said it aloud it was like tasting something completely unknown -

"Hannibal Lecter," he'd whispered. It was like a name from another time, certainly one of the strangest he'd ever heard. Somehow, though, it fit the gentleman he'd been watching. It fit like a well-tailored suit. 

Will hadn't lingered the first time he'd visited the house, taking some articles with him in a ziploc bag; little hors d'oeuvres he'd discovered later, consisting of a mango salsa and cheese on a toasted bread. 

They were delicious; better than anything Will had ever tasted. 

The next time he'd visited he'd felt bolder, had taken more time, and left with half a loaf of bread; zucchini, he'd surmised, with chips of walnut scattered throughout. It had melted in his mouth the next morning when he'd drunk his coffee; one of the few things he was willing to spend his savings on. 

It wasn't until about a week later that Will was greeted with a change; the man's _(Hannibal's)_ trash cans locked up in a container with a large padlock on the front . He'd frowned, momentarily annoyed, but this hadn't deterred him for long. 

Will Graham was no stranger to picking locks. He'd taught himself the art as a child to combat boredom. 

But, still, it wasn't as if he'd made a huge mess, he'd tried to reason. He'd left the cans in reasonable order, more or less. 

However, this Hannibal Lecter seemed to be a slave to order. Will couldn't begrudge him that, but it wasn't going to stop him from his nightly visits, either. Not when he had a challenge before him, which he welcomed heartily - the streets were already starting to lose his interest as the days blended together. 

It wasn't long before a Bobby pin and a paperclip were making quick work of the lock, and after he'd perused the contents of the trash cans, Will had felt giddy when laying the padlock on top of the container. He knew it was petty but he couldn't help it, almost viewing the gesture as the next move in an elaborate, intimate game of chess --

Your move, Mr. Lecter. 

The night he was finally caught was a strange one, humid and almost ominous from the heaviness in the air; like the shadows themselves were tangible and solid. Will had seriously considered forgoing his trip to Hannibal's home, but as ever, his unfailing curiosity 

(loneliness)

had gotten the better of him, and he'd followed the dark streets to the nicer side of town, the sky threatening all the while to open up and pour its vengeance on the quiet city. He'd stopped momentarily to look at the sky, to seek the stars, and they'd been absent, like they'd been called away. 

The jasmine was particularly cloying that night, and the moisture had clung to Will's skin like a shroud. His feet ached and his mouth was dry; he desperately wanted to bathe but he hadn't really figured out a way to do it yet. Sure, he'd washed as much as he could at the sinks in public restrooms, but those attempts only went so far -

Whore's baths, his father had called them.

His hunger was profound too, what with the heat of summer steadily leeching him and the need to keep moving all the time, lest he was noticed. 

Lest he was caught. 

His hands were clumsy when he worked the lock that night, sluggish, and the thrill wasn't immediately coming to him like before. He'd considered curling up next to the fence and sleeping for a while, but it was fleeting. To sit and be still, relaxed, was a luxury that will couldn't afford in his current state. No, keep moving, he told himself. 

Be vigilant. You're your own best friend. 

But, still, his fingers weren't as nimble this time, and he was spending too much time on the lock, but his stubbornness wouldn't let him give up. It wasn't long before he'd dropped one of his tools and it disappeared into the darkness at his feet, and the anger had broken through his dry mouth -

"Fuck."

And then, out of nowhere, there was the sound of soft footsteps and a light shining in his face, almost blinding him. 

He'd considered running away but he was just too tired, nearly swaying on his feet, and truth be told, he felt almost trapped by Hannibal's eyes; caught and held. He had the sensation of being ensnared; the spider sensing a pull in its web and coming to collect. Will stood his ground and met the man's gaze head-on, despite the fact that eye contact had always been a trial for him. 

Time had stood still until hannibal finally spoke, possessing a deep, rich voice, accented, and almost sad, it would seem -

"I'm going to need you to come with me."

Will's heart had jumped in his chest at these words, a wild rabbit leaping against his ribs, but he'd complied without making a fuss. 

\-------

Will felt throughly ensconced in opulence after stepping into Hannibal's home. 

It smelled of wood and spice; clean, with a hint of lemon. A cleaner he used perhaps. The interior was dark, cavernous, at least the little he could see before being drawn into the immaculate kitchen with its shining, stainless steel fixtures. 

Will's kitchen at home had chipped formica counters and worn linoleum floors; a humming Frigidaire in the corner that needed to be replaced. 

Here, the fridge was clearly top of the line, and everything just seemed so new, so polished. Will never thought a kitchen could be so refined; stately. 

It would seem the kitchen reflected the man who owned it. 

Not wanting to appear rude, Will hadn't made a point of gawking. He hadn't really tried to call too much attention to himself, though he was exhausted and too warm. There was fear in him as well, but it wasn't as strong as it probably should've been considering he was standing in a stranger's kitchen after being caught trespassing.

Then Hannibal caught him off-guard - again - and told him to wash his hands. Then he was inviting Will to help prepare a meal, and he couldn't believe what was happening. He'd met Hannibal's eyes briefly and he saw they were an unusual color; whiskey brown, almost maroon.

"Aren't you going to call the police?"

A level look met this question; Will looked between the man's eyes. 

"Do you mean me harm?" Hannibal asked calmly. 

Briefly, Will thought of the knife in his pocket but didn't make a move for it. So far, hannibal hadn't made any untoward overtures and his demeanor, while alert, was not threatening. Still, he couldn't forget the situation for what it was. 

"I could ask you the same thing," he said with an edge in his voice, but softened when he saw that hannibal didn't rise to his sudden attitude. Will sighed and admitted that he didn't want to hurt anyone, and was merely looking for food. 

He didn't mention that he was also curious about the man standing before him, of course. It was too embarrassing. 

Then hannibal was talking about food banks and shelters, and weren't they preferable to digging in the trash. For a moment, Will's anger flashed in him and he was clenching his hands. 

"Those places are for people in need. I'm not going to use up their resources if I don't have to."

Before, will had not felt overly scrutinized by Hannibal but now he was being stared at, giving him the acute sensation of being unclothed. He trembled lightly, whether from fear or a strange excitement he couldn't say. He held his ground, though. 

"You can fend for yourself," Hannibal finally said; not a question, a statement, and he didn't say it in a condescending way either. The light tremble in Will intensified, almost becoming a shiver. 

Then hannibal picked up a knife, and Will couldn't help but flinch. It was quick, though, so hopefully the man hadn't noticed. 

He'd also smiled, and Will noticed that Hannibal didn't show his mirth in the typical way; no, it bordered on subliminal, like he wanted to keep his amusement to himself instead of sharing it with others. 

The man's tone changed after this exchange, and will got the strange impression that he was having fun. He told Will to wash up, to join in and chop vegetables; that he'd appreciatethe company. Will had felt a warmth gather in his belly at this invitation... he'd never prepared dinner with another person before. 

(Or been wanted, not really.)

Typically, it was a solitary venture, cooking for himself and his father, and even then he'd usually eaten alone; keeping a plate in reserve for when his father finally came home from work. 

He'd hesitated, then -

"You don't even know my name." Eyes down, he couldn't even look at hannibal now. 

"That's easily remedied," the man had replied, and with the same subdued humor Will had learned that Hannibal was a doctor.

Dr. Hannibal Lecter. 

What kind of doctor are you? He'd wanted to ask, but Will held his tongue. He hadn't offered his name either, surprised that Hannibal provided his so readily. Instead, he'd focused on the plump, pink organ being sliced by such large, capable hands; like the knife was an extension of the doctor's body. 

"Is that what we're having?"

"Amongst other things, yes," Hannibal replied.

Will studied the heart, realizing it was too small to be that of a cow's, but too large to be a sheep's, surely... maybe it was a pig's? It gave him an odd feeling either way, but he was almost hypnotized by the deftness of the man's sure, calculated movements. Finally, he looked away and moved toward the sink after unshouldering his pack, watching hannibal watching him, and he still felt that acute sense of near-nakedness.

When it couldn't be avoided any longer, Will turned away when washing his hands, very aware of the knife in his pocket, almost burning, and even more cognizant of Hannibal's eyes on his back. He ducked his head, wanting to appear docile, and almost moaned when the clear, warm water splashed his hands.

The feeling was exquisite, the way the water sluiced over his skin and somehow revived him. The soap he lathered with was passion flower and pink Himalayan salt, and he lingered; wishing he could strip down and stand under the stream until the grit of the streets was completely cleared away. 

He washed until he reluctantly shut off the water, his body feeling dirtier and heavier because his hands and forearms were so clean; skin pink from warmth and being scrubbed. Biting his lip, he glanced at the dish towel to his side and it was so white, so unsullied, and he couldn't imagine making it imperfect with his touch. 

"You may use the towel."

Involuntarily, Will bent his head more at these words, inexplicably shamed, but so grateful for not having to ask; appreciating the man's obvious perception. Some of his resolve crumbled in his chest and he felt compelled to offer up a piece of who he was; reveal himself somehow. 

"Will," he whispered, and he sounded like a child again. Strangely, being treated like he wasn't a burden made him feel small, young, which he couldn't rightly understand. It felt nice, though. 

"Hmm?"

"My name, it's Will," he said, a little louder but still subdued. A change in the air told him that Hannibal was taking this information and digesting it. He also waited for him to ask for his last name, but he didn't. Relieved, Will placed his hands on the counter to steady himself; happy to have something he could divulge at his leisure. If he ever decided to. 

The crack of lightning that came suddenly struck through Will's bones, and the rain pounded the roof like a million hands (or heartbeats) in rapid succession, and he could only think of being caught in it and huddling in the night against the onslaught. He looked at Hannibal and allowed their eyes to meet, to catch, and he wanted to plead with him to let him stay, at least until the rain stopped -

It's cold out there, he wanted to say. Even in the middle of summer, it's so cold. Can't you feel it?

But he held his tongue, and Hannibal spoke instead, almost jovial as he kept slicing into that glistening pink flesh, falling wetly onto the cutting board. 

"Well, Will," he said, seeming to linger on his name like he wanted to savor it, "it's fortuitous that i found you when I did, don't you think? It would seem that the night is suddenly unfit for neither man nor beast."

A cold bloom, a winter flower, opened in Will's stomach at these words, but he chewed them in his head; relishing them. For whatever reason, they gave him the impression that he'd be allowed to take solace from the night and its elements - at least for a while. 

Hiding a smile, he thoroughly dried his hands and looked toward the knife block. Hannibal, seeming to notice this, slid out a silver implement and offered it to Will, who took it without words, testing its weight in his hand. 

Outside, another crack of lightning sizzled the air and Will nearly flinched, holding himself in a tight, composed way. Hannibal, for his part, smiled wider; going back to cutting the heart, and watching Will with what could almost be considered affection. 


	3. hannibal

**_I wanna just dance, but he took me home instead_ **  
**_Uh-oh, there was a monster in my bed_ **  
**_We French kissed on a subway train_ **  
**_He tore my clothes right off_ **  
**_He ate my heart, and then he ate my brain_ **

**_Monster - Lady Gaga_ **

* * *

It was to be a solitary night in for Hannibal, as so many often were, before he'd managed to capture the exhausted, quiet boy sitting beside him. 

_Will_ , as it turned out; last name still unknown. 

Hannibal could only smile slightly at the sight of Will seated at the long table, dark curly hair subdued under the dim, gold light from above. In his dirty white tshirt and frayed jeans, he was woefully out of place, but Hannibal didn't find this to be an offense to his cultured senses. No, the effect was almost charming in a way. Intriguing. 

The boy had been a quick and dutiful helper in the kitchen, cutting the mushrooms and vegetables efficiently. The result had been ragged and the pieces weren't uniform, but Hannibal had appreciated his vigor and lack of complaint at being asked to sous-chef.

"I believe you've cooked before," Hannibal had commented at one point while sautéing curly strands of zucchini. "Based on your confidence with the knife."

At this, Will had nodded, still cutting vegetables for a salad; cucumbers falling onto the board in imperfect circles. 

"It's my job at home," he'd said, before thinking better of it, it seemed. "Was, I mean. My father worked late so he didn't make dinner. I did."

Hannibal considered this, taking note of an almost bitter quality tainting the boy's words; wrapping around one in particular.

 _Father_. 

Not exactly disdain, but certainly not rife with affection. 

Not wanting to touch on that quite yet, Hannibal had asked instead, "what sorts of meals did you make?"

"Whatever my father preferred," the boy had shrugged, a veil having dropped over his clear blue eyes to shadow them. 

"And that was?"

Another shrug. "He didn't like anything fancy, i guess," Will had replied, watching Hannibal sprinkle sea salt over the zucchini. "He wanted simple. Cheap." He'd paused, had moved to continue chopping. "My father wasn't crazy with change or surprises so we ate a lot of the same things over and over. Meatloaf. Spaghetti." He'd grimaced lightly. "I tried making curry once but that didn't go over so well."

Now Hannibal was presenting Will with a plate of stroganoff laid on a bed of spiraled zucchini rather than egg noodles, so as not to pull focus from the exquisite flavor of the heart scattered throughout; fresh rosemary gentle and pleasing to the doctor's sensitive nose. They had already eaten their salad and Will was nodding, but trying to appear alert. 

Hannibal took his usual place at the head of the table, amused to see the cloth napkin draped just so over Will's lap, and he took up his wine to drink; a red from Chateau Lafite Rothschild. Swirling it gently, he smelled it first, taking in the rich aromas of currant and plum. 

It was still raining outside, as evidenced by the light patter on the roof, winding in between notes of a Chopin nocturne playing softly from the Bose speakers nestled in corners of the room. Sighing softly, Hannibal could smell the rainfall through the slightly ajar window behind him. 

Everything was in place, but what was he to do about his guest? Of course he'd already considered his potential flavor, as well as his ability to throw Hannibal's life into turmoil should he be allowed to linger, but seeing him now, practically falling asleep over his food and appearing just so young, so frail...

Hannibal's interest was piqued. He also sensed no ill will in the boy, merely youthful waywardness and a thirst to survive despite the odds. But what odds were those? Where had Will come from, and more importantly, where was he hoping to run?

The doctor mulled this over while watching the boy closely, moving not a muscle when he saw him lifting a bite of heart on his fork, pink lips parting, mouth opening, and then....

"It's wonderful," Will said tiredly after chewing and swallowing. "Unlike anything I've ever had before." He looked up, and Hannibal could see the haggard violet shadows under his eyes. "This is my first time eating heart...i wasn't sure I'd like it."

Pleased, Hannibal could imagine the meals the boy had endured before finding his way to this place; Wonder Bread and Hamburger Helper filling his young belly but not fulfilling him as food should. He could also detect a faint accent in some of Will's words; not Baltimore-bred, though; the elongated 'O' absent from his speech. 

"You're not from this area," Hannibal said, tucking into his own food. "Have you come from far away, Will?"

Will seemed startled to hear his name drift so casually from Hannibal's mouth again, but he recovered quickly. Before answering, he drank deeply from a glass of milk; having foregone Hannibal's teasing offer of wine. 

"That depends on what you consider far away," he replied, using his hand instead of his napkin to wipe away his milk mustache. Giving hannibal a look, eyes skipping away quickly, he added, "You're not from around here, either. Obviously."

Hannibal said nothing, merely giving Will a look not meant to reveal anything. This wasn't about him, at least not yet. 

Will ate two more bites of his dinner before he finally lay his fork aside, this time remembering to wipe his lips with his napkin. 

"I hitchhiked," he admitted. "From Virginia."

Hannibal remained quiet for a moment, absorbing this while the music changed; the rain all but a soft drizzle now. "That's dangerous, but I'm sure you already realize that," he said, lifting his wine to smell it once again; now he was picking up hints of oak in the red, too. "You never know whose car you're getting into, after all."

The look on the boy's face became wry, like he was preparing to shock his host, or at least attempt to. 

"I'm pretty sure I was propositioned for sex by the second couple that picked me up. That was an experience."

Hannibal stared, a part of him finding that idea unspeakably repugnant. He remained inscrutable. 

"Did you take them up on their offer?"

Now it was Will's turn to regard Hannibal, an almost adult craftiness igniting itself in his eyes. It died quickly, though, like his need for rebellion was as yet unrealized, even by him. 

"Do you think i did?" he countered.

"I could hardly say," Hannibal replied, curling zucchini around his fork. "However, if you did, i hope it was worth it."

"How do you even quantify something like that?" 

Hannibal smiled, but it was slight. "Do you feel their hands on you even now, if you did allow them to touch?" he forked a piece of heart. "And if you were to bathe, would that feeling still be there, like it's not on your skin, but inside of it?"

Will set down his fork abruptly at this question, seeming genuinely disturbed by it. This was enough to tell Hannibal that the boy had behaved and hadn't allowed himself to be lured into one of the many dark pits the world created. 

This realization filled him with a pride he hadn't expected. 

"You're far from home, whether in actual distance or from what it represents, i can't be sure yet," Hannibal said, almost giddy, "but you're out of your element. Where have you been staying?"

The boy was faint when he spoke, like he was looking backward at the roads he'd already traveled; the great, big world with the teeth at its edges. "In the courtyard of the Visionary Art Museum," he murmured, and now he sounded tired enough to collapse. "It's quiet there, most nights."

"Ah, yes," Hannibal replied, already thinking of the guest rooms in his home; wondering which would best suit the situation. "Where the trees are strung with mirrors and glass."

"I thought it was beautiful," Will said, looking down and folding his hands in his lap. "No one's bothered me yet, sleeping there night after night. It seems unusual, almost serene."

"It would seem that you're in need of a night's sleep that doesn't leave you completely exposed." Hannibal smiled, running a hand over his vest; a charcoal gray that hugged his torso. "To the elements, i mean. Imagine if you'd made this sojourn in the middle of winter, Will."

"At least I'd feel warm for a moment before the cold dragged me down entirely," Will whispered, touching his face and stifling a yawn. "I'm sorry, I'm just so tired."

"Understandable," Hannibal said gently, "so there's no need to apologize. I'll assume you'd like to bathe properly before going to bed?"

Will looked up, clearly startled. "You don't mean -"

"Unless you wanted to face the night alone again, which is well within your right," the doctor interrupted, gesturing vaguely in the direction of the front door. "After all, you're under no obligation to stay, are you?"

The boy slowly shook his head, seeming more puzzled than anything else. "I just didn't think it was even an option. Staying, I mean. After a while, it hadn't even seemed like a possibility, being in this house with you; not when -"

Clearly afraid that he'd said too much, Will shut his mouth and stared down at his plate. 

"You left the lock on top of the container, the lock you picked; clever boy," Hannibal said, very pleased now; always open to new amusements no matter how they may present themselves. "It became a game to you, getting to what you thought you wanted."

"Chess," Will admitted, smiling before covering his mouth with his hand. "I was always waiting for your move. It... excited me."

Hannibal, charmed by what could almost be considered the boy's attempt at coquettishness, took a moment to study Will's inherent fragility; slim white neck, the thin wrists with the sea green veins swimming in them. He wondered idly how one so seemingly delicate could've lasted so long on its own in the wild, unprotected by something bigger and genuinely ruthless. 

Or maybe this child was more than met the eye? Yes, hannibal decided, pushing back in his seat, that was entirely probable. 

"Have you been watching me?" he asked, genuinely delighted at the prospect. 

A warm blush, a rush of hot blood, flooded the boy's cheeks at this question, and he fumbled boyishly with his napkin. Instead of speaking, he nodded like he was ashamed. Long eyelashes brushed flushed cheeks, and Hannibal suddenly felt so, so hungry. 

"Are you done?" he asked, swallowing the sudden wetness in his mouth, the flavors of rich wine and unasked questions weighing on his tongue. "I wouldn't want to rush you."

The boy hesitated before he also pushed away from the table, elegant hands lifting the napkin from his lap and laying it next to his semi-full plate. 

"I'm sorry," he murmured, full of apologies now, like his weariness had loosened his tongue. Or was it his gratitude; wanting to please the man that offered him unexpected respite? "I can't even see straight right now, and I don't want to fall asleep while talking to you."

Hannibal, feeling playful, almost offered to carry Will away from the room and up the stairs but he refrained. "Shall we?" he asked instead, standing and waiting for Will to do the same. 

Once Will had retrieved his threadbare backpack from the kitchen, Hannibal led him up the stairs to the second floor of the house, his hand ghosting close to the small of the boy's back. Will held himself rigid, his bag clutched in his arms, as if he was waiting for Hannibal to pounce, but he relaxed when he was led to the guest bathroom. 

"You may use anything you like, towels, soap, shampoo," Hannibal said, opening the door wide to reveal a room bathed in soft golden light; a glassed-in shower with gilded trim, and a bathtub large enough to accommodate several Wills. 

Will's eyes were wide with wonder at the riches being afforded him, but soon enough they darkened with suspicion; not surprising hannibal at all. 

"Why would you trust me with all of this?" he asked, still holding tightly to his bag like it was a lifeline. "You don't know me... aren't you worried at all that I'll try to take advantage of your generosity?"

"No," Hannibal answered honestly. "I've never been afraid of the wolves at the door... going so far as to invite them in." He looked down at Will, almost tender. "Are you trying to tell me you're a wolf, too?"

"Only when I have to be," Will muttered, finally relinquishing the pack and laying it on the bathroom's tiled floor, still gazing around with obvious disbelief. "Hopefully that isn't a problem."

Hannibal had to cover his smile now, only because it would've conveyed too much felicity; more than this situation rightfully called for. He gestured to the pack, his nose picking up scents of sweat, grass, and engine exhaust; the dirty city encroaching on the world he'd carved out of the common round; the rabble.

"Will you be needing anything? Clothing to sleep in, perhaps?"

Hugging himself, Will hesitated. "I have my boxers, and one of my shirts has only been worn once, so it'll do."

"That isn't good enough," Hannibal replied, managing to cover his disgust. At least the boy wasn't fussy; didn't expect more than he'd felt he'd earned. "I'll bring you something. Now," he added, nudging Will softly, taking note of the bones pressing upward through his skin: scapula, vertebrae; the most prominent knob of bone at the base of his neck. They were all so fragile, like little snatches of porcelain under Hannibal's hand. 

"See to your needs," he instructed, "and I'll leave a change of clothes on the counter."

Will hesitated again, skittish like the night creatures he'd shared the darkness with, and Hannibal softened himself to accommodate, to reassure. 

"You needn't fear me," he murmured, thinking of the long white shirt he'd dress Will in; could imagine him curled up in it and relishing its softness before passing into slumber. "I'm not the same danger you'd find out there, Will. I'm merely offering you sanctuary."

"But, why?" Will asked, tentatively moving now, shying away from Hannibal's touch. 

As if he was letting go of an injured bird taking flight, Hannibal curled his fingers when Will was out of reach, and he could only watch him as he stood in the gold-lighted bathroom. 

"Because the night is cold for someone like you," he said, "and if i can save you from the wolves in the dark, at least for a while, isn't that my obligation?"

"Ah, you feel obligated," Will said almost reproachfully while turning away. "Now it makes sense."

Hannibal nearly laughed. In anyone else this sort of petulance would've annoyed him, but with this boy it just seemed par for the course. 

"It'll all make sense in time, I imagine," he replied, reluctantly taking a step back. "My seeming obligation and your obvious disdain for playing by the rules."

"If you say so," Will said like he was losing interest. 

Now Hannibal did laugh. "Enjoy yourself," he said quietly, starting to close the door. "Little wolf."


	4. Will

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ahhh, I'm updating too quickly but I'm having so much fun with this. Sorry if it's terrible, but I am having fun imagining Hannibal's brand of opulence. That guy lives to be extra, I swear. 🤣
> 
> I'm just setting the scene here, i guess. ❤
> 
> PS: if anyone's interested, I imagined Hannibal playing chopin's ballade no 1 in G minor during this part, and the shirt he lets Will borrow is around $1,800.00 bc of course it is. Oh, hannibal. Never change. 
> 
> Oh, and the painting over Will's bed is a Mucha called 'Dawn'. Not exactly fitting with hanni's aesthetic, but whatever. I gotta make my own fun around here 🤣🤣

Will wasn't sure what to do with himself. 

He looked around at the immaculate bathroom and felt intimidated; inexplicably afraid of pure glass and fixtures that were so clean and glistening as to seem unreal. 

At home, the bathroom had consisted of a cracked basin and a claw-foot bathtub with a faucet that constantly dripped. 

They'd had non-slip adhesive ducks on the bottom of the tub, too; behind the curtain that desperately needed a new liner. The tiles on the floor were loose, and when Will had mentioned the black mold in the ceiling his father had given him that look -

The one that usually accompanied a backhand, so Will had clammed up and kept his thoughts to himself. 

Hannibal had told him that he could use anything, but Will had to wonder if that was true. He hadn't gotten the impression that he was being tested but he was so out of his element, and just so desperately tired....

Sighing, he looked around and liked that the room looked and felt warm. Compared to the other rooms he'd seen, this one was the most inviting. The dining room had bordered on being otherworldly, with its wall of boxed, living herbs, the long, stately table, and the curious painting over the mantle with the woman and the swan; flanked by a pair of impressive curved tusks on either side of the gold frame. 

It seemed like the room couldn't decide whether it was trying to be imposing or classically elegant. 

As he undressed slowly, Will considered this line of thought, and decided this applied to his host as well, with his direct stare and fussy suit. Even without a jacket, the doctor looked like he was ready to attend a symposium instead of a casual dinner shared with a random drifter. 

And the way he'd seemed to light up when it was implied that Will hadn't given into the sexual advances of strangers; a shiver ran up his spine to remember the way those whiskey eyes had taken on a strange, almost combative sparkle. 

But only briefly. 

Hannibal had seemed intrigued, though, enough to let him stay overnight at any rate. For how much longer Will couldn't be sure, but he had to admit he was grateful not to be turned away, even if he got the impression that the doctor viewed him as an interesting distraction...akin to a new toy or bauble to momentarily admire. 

Still, Will wanted to believe he'd sensed some warmth in the man... or at least an unspoken mutual understanding. 

A sudden knock came at the door when Will was down to his boxers, and he almost yelped in his surprise. Frantically, he grabbed his shirt and held it against his front, his eyes trailing to the large mirror and skipping over the scars and bruises, many still healing, scattered across his pale skin. Shame flooded him, as well as a small tendril of rage -

He had nothing to be ashamed of, after all. No matter how many times he reminded himself, his brain just wouldn't get the message. He looked toward the door, trying to stand a little taller. 

"Come in."

The door opened slowly and Hannibal was there, watching him with those strange eyes of his, a mixture of compassion and a subliminal amusement in them. Will clutched the shirt tighter against himself. 

"I brought you a change, as promised," Hannibal said, holding up the white, neatly folded article in his hand and carefully stepping into the room. He didn't move too quickly and gave Will a wide berth, giving the impression of one trying to gain the trust of a flighty, skittish animal. He lay the garment on the counter before gesturing to Will's backpack. 

"Do you have anything that needs to be laundered?"

Reaching out, Will pulled the bag closer, all the while trying to cover himself. He watched Hannibal suspiciously. 

"Don't tell me you wash your own clothes."

A quirk of Hannibal's lips revealed his amusement. "Why wouldn't I, Will?"

Will had to resist rolling his eyes at this question, so he made do with a tone filled with petulance. "Because you're rich. Rich people don't do laundry."

"You'd be surprised," Hannibal replied. "Aside from yard work and taking my suits to be dry cleaned, I do all of my own household chores." After a moment, he added, rather cheekily, "and that includes my laundry."

Will was baffled. He'd always figured that the elite never got their hands dirty if they could help it, and Hannibal, a doctor for God's sake, was standing here offering to wash his sweat and dirt-riddled clothing like it was nothing. He stared, almost forgetting to hold the shirt up. 

"But, why?" he asked, loosening his grip on his bag. 

"I like my privacy," Hannibal said quite easily. He indicated the bag again. "Well?"

"Is it fair for me to assume that you're offering to wash my clothes because you're okay with me staying for a while?" Will asked, knowing that this was a leap in logic but unable to help himself. Besides, something in him, the odd part of his brain that could read situations (and people), and read them well, was telling him this was exactly the case. "Or am I being presumptuous?"

Hannibal considered him for a moment, tilting his head so that his carefully styled hair fell just so over his forehead.

"Is that your desire? To stay?" A pause, then, "i would think a child on his own would be afraid of being invited in by a stranger."

"I'm not a child," Will scowled, annoyed. After all, the man had called him a wolf, and he'd found that far more fitting for his temperament. 

"You aren't, are you? Not in the true sense." Coming closer, he towered over Will; strong and solidly built. "But you're hardly an adult yet. Not in the eyes of society."

Uneasy, Will decided not to touch that statement, choosing instead to unzip the bag and reach inside. 

"I guess everything needs to be washed," he admitted, pulling out rumpled clothing; nose wrinkling at the scent of sweat rising up. Soon, he'd produced tshirts and his other pair of jeans; underwear. He hesitated. "I can wash all of this myself, if that would help."

"I don't doubt that," Hannibal said kindly, stooping to pick up the pile without batting an eyelash. He stopped, becoming so still that Will finally looked at him, meeting the man's eyes even though it was unnerving. 

Hannibal merely watched him, and his manner was such that Will got the feeling that he was holding back from laying a hand on his cheek. 

"I don't think you're helpless," he murmured, "quite the contrary, actually. If I did, I wouldn't be so accommodating... I'd force you to do for yourself; stand on your own two feet. Does that make sense to you?"

Raw hope grew in Will's heart, like the sun rising and sending long-sprawling tendrils of light over moon-cold fields. "Does that mean i can stay?"

Standing, Hannibal backed toward the door. "For a time. Did you need anything else?"

Will looked around, at a loss as to what tangible objects he could possibly need in a place like this. He also thought of Hannibal's large hand and how he'd handled the blade in the kitchen before, so confident, how the same hand would feel resting on his flushed cheek. He swallowed and shook his head. 

"No...i think I'm okay for now," he finally said, realizing he'd lowered the shirt; feeling much too warm as he raised it again, though it probably didn't matter now. Hannibal had seen, surely, but by some small miracle, he didn't mention what Will was trying so hard to hide. 

"Your room is at the very end of the hall," Hannibal said, backing through the doorway. "On the right. I think it will suit your needs. I'll leave the door open for you."

Will nodded, rising from the floor on legs that trembled. It almost felt like he'd been standing in strong sunlight for too long. He hesitated before speaking softly:

"Thank you."

He was greeted with an enigmatic smile, appearing more in Hannibal's eyes than the curve of his mouth. "You're welcome, Will."

It wasn't until Will was washing away the grime and stickiness of the hot city that he realized he had no idea what to call his unorthodox benefactor. Surely he couldn't call him _Hannibal_. After all, for all intents and purposes, Will was a country boy at heart, and he was sure his mother would twist in her grave to know he'd called an elder by their first name. 

Dr. Lecter? No, it seemed so distant, so cold. 

Choking back a groan, Will tilted his head to wash his face, scrubbing the dead skin until what was left was soft and smooth. He ran his fingers through his sodden curls and worked the shampoo he'd found into a lather, checking the bottle to see that it was a formula infused with rose hips and Moroccan oil. 

At home he used a 3-in-1 product that washed his hair _and_ body. His father got it on sale at the Walgreens in town. 

"Sir?" he murmured, hating the sound of it immediately, like he was being detained as a sex slave in the man's lavish trappings. Warming, a small twitch radiated through his groin that he ignored, washing the expensive shampoo from his hair. 

Maybe he could just call him doctor? Will rather liked that, he decided, taking a cloth and drenching it in body wash that smelled of sharp tea tree oil. Scrubbing himself, he avoided the worst of his bruises, mouthing the word "doctor" over and over. 

_"Good morning, doctor."_

_"Can i help, doctor?"_

Embarrassed, Will leaned his forehead against the slick tiles, feeling stupid; like a heartsick fool with a ridiculous infatuation. This would never do. Christ, he didn't even know what kind of doctor Hannibal was, but he had to be an amazing success considering everything he possessed. 

Will regretted not asking during dinner, but he'd been so overwhelmed by what was happening that he hadn't thought of it. The food alone was enough to keep him engaged, not to mention the way the doctor watched him while he ate it -

Hungrily, like the sight of Will sustained him more than the offering on his plate, but Will was sure he'd imagined that. 

Now he shut off the water and stood dripping, his shadow stretching long over the golden wall with the recessed alcove full of plants and a pretty vase flecked with amber and glazed a burnt umber. The water drained, a sluggish chuckle as it swirled and disappeared, and once again Will had to remind himself that all of this was real; he'd escaped the white house and had somehow found himself in a modern day castle. 

If he wasn't so cynical he'd almost say it was like a fairytale. 

Even now, he almost felt like he was floating when he dried himself with a towel so soft it was more a cloud than anything else, and then he was slipping on his worn boxers and lifting the shirt that Hannibal had provided. 

"Brioni," he murmured, reading the label. The garment was a stark white, slippery but soft, and it buttoned up the front. Will hesitated before slipping it on, turning to his reflection and seeing that its size made him seem even more slight; sumptuous material falling to the middle of his thighs. Feeling odd, he adjusted the shirt when it slipped slightly, revealing part of a pale, bony shoulder. 

As he finished washing up, Will tried not to think of the doctor in this shirt, the way it no doubt fit him the way it was supposed to; fine silk and cotton hugging well-defined, healthy muscles. It was about the time that Will was done brushing his teeth that he knew he needed sleep, because his thoughts were becoming animals slipping down dark corridors; practically unknown to him. 

That was also when he heard the music wafting into the room, trips of melody like wine being slowly poured and soft footsteps down velvet stairs; haunting Chamber music played in a decaying castle after the sun goes down and candles are lit to burn until sunrise.

It wasn't quite a piano but similar, and the sound it made couldn't be considered happy, but Will enjoyed hearing it. He was careful now when stepping, listening intently when he snapped off the light and wandered out into the hallway. Faint lights were lit along the walls and he could still hear the rain falling above him, but most prominent was the mournful music floating up through the floor.

His footsteps whispered over the carpet when he stole to the head of the stairs, wanting to explore but thinking better of it. Instead, he listened for a time, sure that this wasn't a recording; no, it was real. It was too beautiful, too solid and near to be a record or a CD; the radio. It lulled him until he swayed on his feet, and Will reached out to steady himself against the wall. 

Looking over his shoulder, he looked down the corridor with its rich, plush carpet and dark walls, eyes coming to rest on the door Hannibal had promised to leave open. Like he was in a trance, he felt flooded with music when he went to it and stepped into the room, already lit with more golden light.

"Oh," he said softly, taking in the sight of the large four poster bed with the elaborate wooden frame; swirls curling on themselves like elegant calligraphy. The bedspread was a deep wine red, and it was already turned back to reveal sheets as fine and white as the shirt Will was wearing. 

The room itself was possessed of the same cavernous quality as the rest of the house, what appeared to be a sitting room off to the side complete with rose-colored wing backed chairs and a chaise lounge. Over the bed a painting of a woman gazing at the sun, full breasts exposed, hung. On a side table, an ornate golden clock ticked away the seconds; an apparatus in its domed glass revolving at the bottom. 

It was all more than Will could've dreamed of, and for a moment all he could do was look, but it felt like he couldn't truly make himself see what was before him. How had he gone from digging through garbage to this, in the span of one strange, surreal evening?

Hugging the shirt to himself, Will wandered to the window to look out, the light from a streetlamp cutting its caustic brilliance through the night; fuzzy blue radiating from the bulb's nucleus. All the while, the music continued, a lullaby bleeding through the air until he almost swooned. 

He was so far from home, and this thought almost made him sad for the first time since he'd left, but it was slowly laid to rest when Will climbed into the large bed and curled into its softness. He blinked, eyes burning as he slowly slipped, succumbing to the pull of slumber. As he fell, he listened to the music playing and tried to envision the man creating it, the last word he spoke not "doctor", after all, but rather "Hannibal"; becoming almost like a prayer on his lips. 


	5. hannibal

Hannibal hadn't intended to check on Will before retiring for the night, content that the boy could be left to his own devices. By his own admission, Will had stated that he could look after himself, and Hannibal had trusted that. 

But when he'd ascended the stairs late into the night, after the rain had stopped and he'd tired of playing his music, Hannibal had noticed the lamplight spilling into the corridor from the room down the hall; the door wide open. 

Having always been the type to satisfy his ever insatiable curiosity, hannibal had approached the room without hesitation, and had been moved in a decidedly foreign way when he'd seen Will curled up in the big bed on his side; knees tucked to his chest. 

The white shirt drowned him, and Hannibal could see that the weariness and suspicion were stripped from the boy's face when in repose. Just as well. 

Sitting on the bed, hannibal considered Will as the minutes ticked, the hours fading and becoming fuzzy. Outside, a dog howled like it was in pain, and the man cocked his head to listen. 

Will whimpered in his sleep and Hannibal was immediately preoccupied. As he watched, the boy began to fidget and fret, and because he'd fallen asleep over the covers, his writhing discomfort was more obvious. 

It wasn't too long before the smell of sweat, acrid with terror, met Hannibal's nose, and Will was clutching the sheets as he tossed. Beads of perspiration built in his hair like dew drops, and he whined low and deep in his throat - 

Beyond the window, the dog in the night cried out again, and Hannibal watched as the clean sheets under Will became saturated with his distress. 

"No, no, no, no," he moaned, forehead furrowing. He lay on his back and arched, too-large shirt parting just enough to reveal the bruises beneath, the ones Hannibal had already seen in the bathroom. 

They were like sea creatures floating and searching under pale skin, dark blue-violet backs pressing up to stain and mar. The scars, some of them white and old, were crooked roads running up Will's body. Hannibal had seen him trying to hide them, but his eyes were quick.

Quietly fascinated, he watched as Will flitted and wandered through the nightmares only he could see behind his eyelids, the air filled with the aroma of his fear. It was sweet, this scent; candy with a bitter core. Hannibal could scarcely take his eyes off him, not even caring that the shirt he'd provided was all but drenched as the boy clawed through unseen horrors.

Will, an unexpected vision materializing out of the void of the night; wind-chafed and vaguely, romantically haunted, it would seem. His was an intriguing dichotomy; almost wanting to behave but his nature wouldn't let him. Will's need to survive by his own unique designs was too profound, and it was this drive that made him accept rides from strangers and walk into Hannibal's home without even looking over his shoulder as the door closed. 

Once again, Hannibal had to muse over what was breathing at Will's back, hot and creeping; so distracting that it even soaked into the boy's dreams. Of course, he had his theories; the way Will had spoken of certain things -

His father in particular. A simple man opposed to surprises; working late and expecting his supper on the table when he came home, tired and short on words, the doctor imagined. Hannibal wondered if he shared Will's curly hair, his blue eyes that snapped with sharp intelligence and wariness respectively; quick anger on occasion. 

And what of his mother? Will hadn't spoken of her at all, which was telling in and of itself. 

Will's clothing was sodden now, plastered to his skinny torso; curls moist and sticking to his forehead and nape. His eyes were rolling behind their lids, and all the while Will moaned in a lost little voice that sounded terribly young. 

Hannibal briefly considered waking him but thought better of it, not wanting to startle him further, and also curious to see how the boy would cope when he inevitably woke on his own. Would he yell? Would he get up and flee from the house, or go looking for Hannibal's room? He'd keep his door open, just in case. 

As it stood, Hannibal observed a few moments more before softly touching Will's face and standing. He left to retrieve thick towels from the linen closet as well as a set of pajamas, these a deep shade of blue. The boy would be swimming in them but at least he'd be dry and covered. 

Setting the articles at the foot of the bed, Hannibal decided to keep the light on so Will would be less disoriented when waking in the night. He looked at him for a time, standing at the bedside, until he turned away; walking softly from the room. 

Maybe he'd look in on the boy later, should sleep prove to be elusive. 

\------

Hannibal woke early, as he usually did, not really needing an excessive amount of sleep. If he dreamed, he did not remember the details, which was typical of him. He rose to greet the day with his usual calm anticipation, showering and dressing in what he considered casual attire: gray Kiton slacks and a red knitted sweater. There was no need to dress in a suit as he'd already cleared his schedule for the day.

Will's door was still open when Hannibal left his room, and upon looking in he was pleased to see that the boy had indeed roused in the night. The neat stack of towels and pajamas had been put to use; the boy nestled with towels below and covering him. The white shirt Will had discarded was folded and left on the nightstand. He slept soundly, his face nestled in the pillow; peacefully still as his little chest rose and fell in deep, even breaths.

Hannibal made a mental note to ask Will if he routinely suffered nightmares, or were these a recent development after running away from home? He'd also make the boy aware of where the linen closet was, in case he was in need of more towels.

When he saw that the boy wasn't going to stir, Hannibal left to see about preparing breakfast. He always felt so at peace when entering the kitchen in the morning, and soon the dark aroma of coffee filled the house. Sunshine slanted through the window, the previous day's clouds and rain having cleared. 

Soon, hannibal had rolled up his sleeves and was preparing a fritatta with fresh scallions, button mushrooms, and tomato; crumbled over with goat cheese and filled with chunks of liver. 

Which reminded him, he needed to go through his rolodex that afternoon to line up his next hunt. 

As the fritatta warmed in the oven, Hannibal sipped his coffee and made a fruit salad; licking his thumb after slicing plump strawberries. He'd toss it with a nice poppyseed dressing, which would go so well with the croissants he'd purchased just the day before. 

"It smells good in here," a sleepy voice commented, pulling Hannibal's focus from the pineapple he was coring.

Will stood in the doorway, hair tousled and his pajama pants bunching up around his ankles. He adjusted the top when it drifted over his shoulder. He yawned softly behind his hand, still reluctant to meet Hannibal's eyes directly. 

"Can i help?" he asked, rubbing his calf with the opposite foot; gaze trained on the floor. "I mean, since you asked me to last night and all."

Hannibal smiled, laying the golden pineapple on the cutting board and preparing to cut it into glistening chunks.

"You may set the table," he said, pointing toward the cabinets. "You remember where things are?"

Will nodded, shuffling over and beginning to withdraw plates and glasses. 

"I hope you're hungry," Hannibal added, feeling particularly light. "I always make too much."

"Very," Will replied, gathering silverware. He started toward the dining room before hesitating. "Thanks, by the way." He glanced over his shoulder shyly. 

Hannibal raised his eyebrows and waited, whisking the dressing now. 

"The towels," Will explained, "and -"

He flushed, putting pink roses in his cheeks. "The pajamas. I have trouble sleeping a lot."

"Bad dreams?" the doctor asked, pulling the frittata from the oven. 

Will nodded again, slowly. His eyes weren't as sleepy now, but they darkened somewhat. "Almost every night."

Hannibal considered this. "Since you were very young?"

"As far back as I can remember." Turning away, Will seemed to want to be done with this conversation. "Anyway, I just wanted to say thank you. I'll go set these out" He held up the plates and cutlery.

It wasn't long before they were once again seated at the long table, Hannibal at the head and Will to his right. The windows were thrown wide and the jasmine floated in, converging with the smell of breakfast and making the atmosphere very relaxed. Hannibal watched with pleasure as Will voraciously ate his fritatta, spearing chunks of fruit, and tearing apart not just one, but two croissants slathered with butter and raspberry jam. He was alternating between sipping from a glass of orange juice and a mug of coffee.

"Were you a chef before you became a doctor?" Will asked, looking up with a smattering of jam on his cheek.

Laying his fork down, Hannibal gave him an amused glance before taking up his own croissant. "No, but I'm flattered to think that my cooking has led you to that conclusion."

"I've just never eaten food this good," Will shrugged, dragging a piece of strawberry through poppyseed dressing; leaving a smear of pinkish juice behind. "I usually have Cap'n Crunch for breakfast. Or," he added, grinning, "if I'm feeling creative, I'll make cinnamon toast. You know, with a bunch of sugar on it?"

"You'll have to make me some, I think," Hannibal teased, becoming casual when he next spoke. "Do you and your father ever eat together? I know you said that he comes home late more often than not, but there must be a time when you both sit down at the same table. Reconnect. Dining as a family is so important...it's when most people allow themselves to slow down and simply have a conversation with loved ones."

Will snorted, quickly slapping a hand over his mouth before watching Hannibal from the corner of his eye. Clearing his throat, he wiped the jam from his cheek with his napkin.

"My father sleeps late most of the time," he said carefully. "If anything, I try to be extra quiet in the morning because his bed is in the living room...I don't want to wake him up because he comes home so late. He needs his sleep."

Hannibal cocked a brow at this explanation. "He sleeps in the living room?"

"Yes," replied Will almost defensively. "It's been that way ever since my mother died." Looking down, he chewed his bottom lip.

Secretly thrilled, Hannibal kept his face passive; controlled. Not wanting to belie his eagerness, he took his time pushing fritatta onto the back of his fork before slipping it into his mouth. He chewed slowly, swallowed, took a sip of coffee, and then -

"Would you say that your bad dreams started around that same time? When your mother died?"

Pushing his plate away, Will regarded Hannibal with an expression that aged him by at least a decade; mouth firm and eyes narrowed. A light was lit in his irises, burning slow, giving the doctor the impression that an epiphany had been achieved. He waited, delightfully intrigued.

"I've been meaning to ask you what kind of doctor you are," Will said slowly, drawing the words out like taffy being pulled, "but now I think I've figured it out."

"Oh?"

"Yeah," Will replied, pulling his coffee toward him and toying with the mug. "You're a psychiatrist, aren't you?"

Hannibal had to hold back a smile, licking his lip to cover it. Clever, intuitive boy. He hadn't enjoyed another person's company this much in ages.

"What gave me away?" he asked, reaching for his own coffee.

"Oh, I think you know," Will said cheekily. "Asking me so many questions about my old man, when really, why should you care?"

"You have run away from home, Will," Hannibal gently reminded him. "It's not farfetched for one to wonder where and from whom you're running."

Will swallowed hard at this statement, some of the amusement fleeing from his face. Irritation and a current of fear replaced it. "Who says I'm running from anyone?"

It wasn't hard to see that the boy's walls were going up, so Hannibal decided to change tack. "Rest assured, I'm equally interested in knowing what you're running towards. If you'd like to share, of course."

"I wouldn't," Will said bluntly, before softening somewhat; a subtle loosening of his shoulders as he slumped in his seat. "Sorry, I wasn't trying to be rude...it's just, well." He glanced at Hannibal and he looked young again, the way he had when he'd been asleep. "I don't know you, so I have no idea what you might do. You could be getting ready to call the police to let them know you have a runaway on your hands."

"I would prefer not to get them involved, if we can possibly avoid it," Hannibal replied easily, the truth slipping from his lips like water. Will was proving to be a mystery worth exploring; why would he send him away now? "And you're correct, you don't know me, but I promise that I'll be as honest with you as possible. If at any point I feel the need to send you home, I'll let you know before I do anything. Is that fair?"

Rather than seem reassured, Will's posture tightened back up. "Wouldn't an, I don't know, normal adult have already insisted on sending me back? Isn't that how it usually works in these situations?"

"I have reason to believe you knew I wouldn't do that," Hannibal countered, leaning forward slightly. "Why else would you have agreed to stay overnight in my home? You consented to making yourself vulnerable."

Will loosened, but only just so. "I guess, but still, this whole situation is kind of weird, isn't it?"

"To an outsider's perspective, I imagine so." Hannibal watched him for a moment, his mind clicking as many avenues of thought opened and lit up. "Would you be more content if we came up with a plan? A bargain of sorts?"

Pressing a hand against his mouth, Will stifled a laugh. "Okay, now you're starting to sound like a Bond villain or something." He shrugged then, starting to seem more at ease. "But, sure, yeah. What did you have in mind?"

"You're out of school for the summer," Hannibal said, "correct?"

Will nodded, tilting his head curiously. "Yeah, until the beginning of September."

Imagining the type of dedicated student Will probably was, Hannibal had to refrain from asking him about his studies; there was time enough for that later. He continued with his line of thought, "then it would seem that you're without obligation at this time."

"More or less."

"I'm willing to let you stay for the remainder of your summer vacation," Hannibal said, the idea tucking itself neatly into one of the rooms of his mind, making itself at home. "But we need to achieve some understandings before proceeding."

Will waited, blue eyes widening. Not for the first time Hannibal noticed how thick his lashes were.

"I will respect your privacy if you can respect mine," the doctor said, his thoughts straying from that room and down the steep stairs that led to the basement. Maybe, just maybe, they could make that trek if Will proved himself trustworthy. Or, Hannibal also had to consider, they'd be forced to make that journey together for entirely different reasons if Will decided to overstep his bounds. Inexplicably, the notion nudged something in his head that stirred up melancholy like dust. "I would ask that you consult me before going into certain places inside my home."

"Of course," Will replied, his air suggesting that he was mildly offended. "I wouldn't just stick my nose in your business. What kind of asshole would I be if I did that?"

Hannibal eyed him, and something in his face must have given Will pause, because he wilted slightly.

"I'll also have to request that you keep your language clean," Hannibal said softly. "I find cursing rude, and really, when there are so many better words you could use -"

"I'm sorry," Will said, flushed and obviously embarrassed. "I didn't mean to."

Smiling, Hannibal admired the way the sunlight gilded Will's dark hair; mussed from sleep. He was suddenly very glad that he'd managed to find Will before someone else had, the thought filling him with a caustic, surprising anger. The world was often unkind to small, soft creatures.

"I also expect you to make constructive use of your time," Hannibal continued. "I have an extensive library -"

"You do?" Will perked up, pleasing Hannibal even more. He paused, giving Hannibal an incredulous look. "Is that supposed to be a catch? Spending my time reading?"

"I suppose not, given your response," the doctor said wryly. "You'll have chores, of course. I imagine you aren't a stranger to helping around the house, though."

"Not at all," Will sighed, sitting back in his chair. "My father was not above putting me to work, I can tell you that much."

Swiftly, Hannibal descended on the mention of Will's father. "What's his profession, your father?"

Will bristled slightly before he relaxed, sighing again. It was obvious he knew that he wasn't in a position to be stingy with information, not when Hannibal was affording him a golden opportunity. "He works on motors at the boatyards. He can fix almost anything, honestly." He smiled wryly, and Hannibal watched like a bird of prey. This was the first time the boy had shown any warmth at the mention of his father. "He taught me," he added softly. "I've gotten pretty good. That's part of the reason I ended up here...I thought I might be able to get a job being so close to the water. Earn my way."

"It's unlikely that they would hire someone your age," Hannibal commented, not unkindly. "But I have to admire your train of thought; putting your skills to use for you."

Will raised one shoulder, turning his coffee mug in a sloppy circle. "Yeah, when I say it out loud it sounds pretty dumb. Myopic, you know?" Looking out the window, he slid his eyes to regard Hannibal without turning his head. "You know, there's a flaw in your offer."

Smoothing a fold in his sweater, Hannibal considered him. "Is there?"

"It hinges on the idea that I have any intention of going home at the end of the summer," Will said nonchalantly. "I ran away for a reason...why would I return when I've already gotten this far?"

"Who you are right now might not be who you are at the end of the summer," Hannibal parried, burning to ask more and more, but knowing he'd need to refrain, play the long-game, if he wanted to get anywhere with someone as resistant as Will. After all, he wanted the boy to eventually trust him, and when that happened, it would be all the easier to truly _know_ him. "Who's to say that you won't have a change of heart after you've had a chance to attain some clarity. You might actually come to miss what you left behind."

"Or maybe," Will replied, his voice bitter, "I'll leave your home and just keep on running. Ever consider that?"

Hannibal smiled slowly. "Absolutely. And I wager this is all predicated on why you ran in the first place, but I suppose that will come to light eventually. Won't it?"

At this question, Will pushed himself from the table and picked up his plate. "The chores you mentioned, do they involve doing the dishes?"

Rising as well, Hannibal took up his own plate. "Amongst others, but it being your first day here and all, I think it's fitting that we do them together."

\-------

The first few days of Will's stay were quiet, mainly because he spent a great deal of his time sleeping or just dozing in a cozy patch of sunlight in the front room; sacked out on the couch. It would seem that he was slowly getting over being on the run, regaining his strength after fretful nights and long, humid days; meager meals and constant fear. He took to sleeping during the afternoons most of all, his slumber much smoother and undisturbed than it was at night.

After that first night, Will routinely whimpered in his sleep, sweating and crying out on occasion. Many mornings, Hannibal saw Will appear at breakfast in clothing he hadn't gone to bed in, and covertly slipping moist towels into the washing machine. He'd avoid Hannibal's eyes even more than usual until midday, when the nightmares in his head had finally seemed to melt and vanish away.

At least until the following night,

Hannibal didn't mention it, biding his time and forging his confidence with Will in patience. Will, for his part, seemed grateful to be left alone over the matter.

After a week, Will had noticeably more energy, and he didn't limp as much when he walked; the blisters that hadn't callused over finally healing on his feet. He was becoming fortified on regular, full meals, and he didn't appear as skittish, though he tried to keep Hannibal in sight the majority of the time. He started sleeping less and helping out more, washing the dishes and doing his own laundry. He kept the house neat, his own room and bathroom always kept spotless; even up to Hannibal's fussy, exacting standards.

Hannibal, who'd taken a few days off to help Will get acclimated, went back to his normal practice. That didn't stop him from wondering over his guest, who proved to be so quiet and aloof most days that it was easy to forget he was there; not that Hannibal ever could. Will's presence created a certain energy in the big house, a warmth, that Hannibal couldn't have anticipated. Gone were the days that he'd step through the front door and feel nothing but the silence and open emptiness. No, now there was the scent of another body, their heat, and lights burning in rooms that would've otherwise been left dark.

As Hannibal had expected, Will was enchanted by the library and spent many hours there, crouched over one book or another. Some days they sat together, Will stretched out on the floor and Hannibal in his leather wing back, quiet and thoughtful as they fell into their respective tomes. Often, Hannibal would look up from his reading and watch Will, the way he chewed his lip when he found something particularly interesting; most of the time lying with a fist curled under his chin and propping up his head. Once he fell asleep right in front of the window, the book acting as a pillow, and Hannibal had felt a strange warmth uncurl in his middle at the sight.

After a while, Hannibal got the impression that Will was beginning to seek him out, looking up on occasion to see the boy close by when he'd been absent before. He noticed this occurring especially when he was playing the harpsichord, deep into his composition and the music washing through him; lifting him up. He'd pull his eyes from his work and the keys to see Will curled in a chair, simply listening. He'd have a book in his lap but it would lay forgotten, his half-open eyes trained on the patches of sunlight littering the far wall. At night when he would play, he could almost feel Will when he entered the room; bare feet whispering over the hardwood floor until he'd tucked himself into a corner of the room; unobtrusive and watchful.

Those were the times when Hannibal's compositions flowed like ink from a pen.

"I hope I'm not distracting you," he'd said once, the crescent moon hanging white and ghostly in the windowpane. "If I am, I can leave." He'd paused, then spoken much more quietly. "It helps me sleep a little bit better. Listening to you first."

Hannibal had looked at him, sitting and watching like a woodland creature tucked into a thicket. Even though Will had his own clean clothes to wear, he'd opted to keep wearing Hannibal's pajamas to bed; an oversized shirt that he pulled around himself. In the dimness of the room, his eyes had been dark; long shadows draped over his face. 

"Not at all," he'd replied, considering his next course of action until -

"Come," he'd said, patting the bench beside him. "Sit by me, and maybe I can teach you a little. Would you like that?"

Will had laughed before leaning his head against the back of his chair. "I'm afraid I'm not musically inclined -"

He'd stopped, a look of near-frustration passing over his features. Hannibal had waited, having learned during their time together that this was an expression that usually yielded something Will had been holding back.

"I can't figure out what to call you," he'd admitted, bringing his legs up to rest his chin on his knees. "I keep worrying about it, so up until now I haven't called you anything."

"I've noticed," Hannibal had replied, having realized a few days into Will's stay that this was a barrier between them. He couldn't blame Will, of course; names had power, one's own as well as the ones they were willing to answer to. "On that token, I don't even know your last name, Will."

"I guess I've been holding it back in order to protect myself," he'd replied uneasily. "I thought maybe you'd look me up somehow, call my father...I don't know. I've been acting like a child. It's not like you couldn't do all of that without my last name."

Hannibal had been charmed, partially from Will's forward thinking, but also because he worked so hard to conduct himself as an adult. It was as if the idea of being small was truly terrifying to him. This had struck him as being endearingly amusing, considering how young and vulnerable Will had looked sitting with his arms wrapped around his legs; clothed in a garment far too large.

"Come," he'd implored again. "Even if you don't want to learn, it's much more interesting up close."

Will had considered him for a pregnant moment before he'd finally risen, padding softly across the floor and stopping beside him; looking down, eyes straying over the keys and the music Hannibal had been composing. His face had become wry. "You can play and compose."

"Yes," Hannibal had said.

"Is there anything you can't do?" he'd sighed after asking this, clearly not expecting an answer, and had sat. He'd taken care to keep a healthy amount of space between them. He was silent for a moment before he asked, "can I call you Hannibal?"

Hannibal had taken up his pen to mark out a note, sensing that Will didn't want to be watched during this exchange. "You can, if that's what you would prefer."

"My mother would have a fit. I mean, it's not like I ever really knew her, but I get the feeling she wouldn't approve of me calling you by your first name."

"Would she approve of you calling me anything at all? Being here in the first place?" Hannibal had asked, hungry for this information. Will was even more close-mouthed about his mother than he was his father.

Will had shrugged, his warmth ghosting through the air between them; he'd smelled of rose hip shampoo and clean sweat. "Probably not, but...maybe she would've changed her mind after getting to know you." He'd smiled then. "Hannibal," he'd nearly whispered. "I think that'll work."

"Another bridge crossed," Hannibal had teased, setting his fingers on the keys.He'd begun to play, the notes arcing through the air and becoming sweet perfume. When he'd stopped, Will had moved a fraction closer, his heat increasing like a tiny furnace.

"I suppose I should tell you my last name," he'd said. "It's only fair, right?"

"Only if you truly wish to disclose it. Just know that I wouldn't use it to deceive you."

"No, I don't think you would," Will had replied, thoughtful. He'd taken a deep breath and had let it out slowly. "Fine, then. Graham. My last name is Graham."

"Well, Will Graham," Hannibal had replied, preparing to play again; prepared to play as far into the night as Will would prefer. In his mind's eye, he could see the summer months stretching long before them both in a sort of golden haze, unwinding and turning into something akin to a fever dream. He'd smiled at the thought. "It's a pleasure to finally make your full acquaintance."


	6. Will

"I heard that dog again last night. At least, i think it's the same one we talked about before."

Hannibal looked up from the eggs he was whisking, eyebrows raised. "Oh?"

Will nodded slowly, turning back to the melon he was slicing. It was routine at this point for him to assist in the kitchen, and truth be told it was a welcome distraction. He was starting to get a little bit antsy being cooped up in the house all the time. 

"It always sounds like it's in pain," he said, his gut clenching lightly at the words. The outcry of the creature, normally heard at night, wounded him on a level that was too personal for him to really talk about, though he was sure Hannibal wouldn't judge him for it. "Maybe i should go find it... it probably needs help."

"Are you restless, Will?" Hannibal asked, crumbling sausage into the egg mixture as it cooked in the pan. 

Will sighed. Leave it to his benefactor to always sniff out the crux of a situation. Of course he was concerned for a potential creature in need, but getting some fresh air was certainly a draw, too. 

"Not necessarily," he said carefully, not wanting to offend the man who'd so graciously opened his home to a glorified urchin. "I've heard that dog almost every night since I came here... I'm just concerned."

He paused when Hannibal gave him a look, as if he was looking through him to the back of his skull. Will felt himself warming under his clothes, like he needed to cover up. 

"And, yes, I'd like to go out for a while, i guess. I've read almost every book in your library."

Hannibal offered one of his subliminal smiles, more in the eyes than the mouth, before attending to the eggs. 

"I know you're a fast reader but I doubt you're that fast."

Will rolled his eyes. "Hyperbole, Hannibal."

"Indeed," the doctor replied, "and it's not as if you're a prisoner here; you can go out whenever you like."

Ducking his head, Will couldn't look at him now; vaguely ashamed. It wasn't that he felt like a prisoner, he just didn't want to give Hannibal the impression that he wasn't going to come back... not after he'd been so kind to him. 

"I know, I just..." he shrugged, feeling helpless, "i don't know. It's hard to explain."

"I think i understand," Hannibal replied, "and you needn't worry. I know you'll return to me, Will. Eventually."

"And how do you know that?" Will asked, making his voice casual though his heart was thumping loud in his ears; Hannibal just sounded so _sure_. 

Now Hannibal's smile bled across his face, whiskey eyes sharp. "You feel safe here. I think, in some way, being in my home brings you a sense of peace that has so far eluded you."

These words rung in Will's ears as he left the large house later on, after Hannibal had departed; informing Will that he had a rather full schedule that day, and then an appointment with his own psychiatrist that evening, so he'd be home late. 

"I left your dinner in the fridge; you just need to heat it up," Hannibal had said, looking impeccable in another of his three piece suits; graying-blonde hair slicked back. "You'll call if you need anything?"

"Of course," Will had sighed, the phone Hannibal had purchased him heavy in his back pocket. "You worry too much. I'll manage."

"I don't doubt it," the doctor had said, moving toward the door. 

Still, Will had been touched by Hannibal's concern; it was more than he'd ever experienced before, worry and dinner besides. It wasn't that he was ungrateful, he just had no idea how to respond to so much doting. 

Now Will was wandering, the humid air thick around him and the sun hot on his shoulders. He was already wondering when Hannibal would be home, having noticed a pattern very quickly after he'd come to stay. Most nights, Hannibal was home by 7 or so unless he had a 7:30 patient, which was unusual, but sometimes - every 6 to 7 days or so, hannibal was exceptionally late. 

Middle of the night late. 

He'd always text of course, and tell Will not to wait up, but he was curious. He'd hear Hannibal come in, move around in the kitchen, and then his footsteps would fade away until Will couldn't hear anything. He'd considered going down to check, but the doctor was so hung up on privacy, and after all, Will didn't want to come across as nosey and preoccupied -

But he was; deep down, he was burning with curiosity. And, oddly enough, jealousy. What could Hannibal possibly want to hide from him? He was constantly asking Will questions, and if he wasn't, he was clearly trying to hold himself back from delving too much. 

Or maybe he wasn't hiding anything at all. Maybe he was just waiting for Will to ask, or come to him with his curiosity. 

Walking along now, Will didn't really want to give the matter more thought; already disturbed by what was growing in him day by day. It was as if Hannibal was becoming the cornerstone of his existence, like it or not, and he always seemed to be in Will's thoughts; either in the background or front and center. He worried over his opinion, wanted to impress him; engage him. He found himself creeping into any room that the doctor occupied, just wanting to see him, even if he was just reading or working at his desk -

Especially when the doctor played his music. Will would sit and listen for hours, on edge, deliciously so, because inevitably -

"Come sit by me, Will, won't you?" Hannibal would pat the bench next to himself and Will would pretend to balk, when really he just wanted to float to him and be near. 

Will couldn't believe it. He never wanted to be close to anyone; not like that, anyway. But when the doctor beckoned to him, something inside pulled; a primal call that Will wanted to bow to. He'd sit, enraptured, wrapped up in the music and acutely aware of how close their thighs were to touching, and he'd revel in the thrill....

And it had only been three weeks since he'd come to stay. The summer was flying by, and already will couldn't imagine leaving. How could he go back to Wolf Trap after he'd found this place? It'd be agony, and his father....

Well, he really didn't want to think about _him_. 

Instead, Will turned his thoughts to the dog he'd heard, yelping in what had to be distress late at night. Will's stomach tightened again. Those pitiful sounds pained him, but they also made him deeply angry; furious to an almost scary extent. It made him feel vicious, like he wouldn't be able to control himself if he actually saw someone hurting the creature. 

Hannibal had heard the sounds too, had been noticeably intrigued at Will's reaction to what he considered gross injustice. 

"This is personal for you," he'd said, "the suffering of this animal."

"Shouldn't it be?" Will had asked, rather snappishly now that he thought about it. "Anyone with an ounce of decency would want to help an animal being hurt."

"True," Hannibal had replied, crossing his legs and steepling his fingers in what Will had come to consider his analytical posture. "But you're showing an unusual amount of anger in this regard. Why is that?"

Will hadn't answered, had gone back to the book he'd been reading. He'd been annoyed by Hannibal's prying, but it was the vulnerability that had made him aloof; the secrets he was sitting on. 

That night, his nightmares had been even worse than usual; filled with long, dark corridors and the feeling of being stalked; desperately wanting to hide and hide well. All the while, the horrible sound of an animal wailing had filled up his ears. When Will had woken up in the night, he'd heard the dog howling and his pajamas were drenched to the point where he'd felt like he was drowning in his own fear. 

The following morning he'd been quiet and slightly shaky; more short-tempered than usual. He'd felt Hannibal watching him but thankfully he'd kept his curiosity to himself. Although, on some level, Will had wanted him to push, to pick, to try and scale the walls that had been built up so high over so many years, but Hannibal hadn't which he'd supposed was just as well. After all, hadn't he made it clear that there were certain subjects he didn't want to discuss?

The sun was high as Will walked the glittering sidewalks, his Converse slapping the pavement. He kept his ears open for any sound of the dog, his eyes trailing the streets and alleys as he passed. He couldn't help feeling terribly out of place as he walked by the imposing homes, steeped in elegance with their rose gardens and impressive facades. Along the curbs sat luxury cars, glossed to a high shine and radiant in the strong sunlight. On occasion, a passersby would give him a questioning look but Will ignored them, trudging ahead. 

Soon, he was away from the residential area and was coming upon the harbor, the wind passing over the green water and bringing the scent of salt to him. Boats bobbed, people hurried, and Will could vividly recall spending his nights there, not so very long ago. 

And yet it felt like it had been so long since he'd found Hannibal. Or, rather, Hannibal had found him. 

Will had to stifle a laugh at the thought; being caught prowling in the trash. He was amazed Hannibal hadn't sent him away almost immediately. 

Enjoying the warm air and the feeling of wide space around him, Will continued to walk, passing the food stands and the science center; the carousel where the children laughed and clamored, down past the fields where people played volleyball and took trapeze lessons. Running alongside it all was federal hill, rising high like a flat-topped green layer cake. Before too long he was back at the Visionary Art Museum, where the trees were displays themselves, hung with colored glass that reflected the light. 

He ran his hand over the slope of the giant egg he'd slept next to the first night, glad to be free of it but missing it in a way he couldn't explain. Looking at it now he felt foolish, remembering the plans he'd brought to Baltimore and cringing slightly; God, what had he been thinking? Who in their right mind was going to hire a kid to work on their boats? Clearly, desperation had made him susceptible to childish flights of fancy. Still, he couldn't bring himself to regret running in the first place. 

After lingering for a spell, admiring the artwork in the courtyard; the iron stork shaped like a giant violin and a glass- covered songbird, Will started making his way back toward Hannibal's house, stopping to look into the water and see the fish slithering through its depths, the crabs trailing along the rocks. The water taxis puttered through the water, cutting their wakes, and all around was the sound of the city and traffic and gulls screaming overhead. 

Will stopped on the way to get a lemonade, parting with some of his savings, but feeling so, so thirsty in the growing heat. He'd thought that he was ready for a long walk, but he was already feeling tired, his feet aching and his muscles rubbery. Maybe he'd been idle too long, holed up in Hannibal's house, and now he was feeling his pampered weaknesses. Or maybe he was still recovering from his former trials, who could say?

Strolling along, he assumed a more leisurely clip, glad to have gone out but happy to be heading back toward what felt comfortable. He kept his eyes open for the dog the whole time, passing Hannibal's home. It was hard to tell where the dog's whines came from late at night, but he tenaciously continued to search. 

The sun was sinking lower in the sky by the time he'd just about given up hope; heat waves shimmering in the distance, when he came upon a home even more impressive than Hannibal's. In the yard, a girl stood with a fluffy, golden dog next to her; absently petting its head as she stared into the middle distance. 

The dog glanced at Will, its solemn brown eyes watchful. After a moment, it wagged its plume of a tail cautiously. The girl, for her part, took longer to notice him, but when she did she blinked almost sleepily, like she was waking up from a daze. 

"Hi," she called, her long, blonde hair falling over her shoulders. A sluggish wind picked up, blowing wayward strands every which way. She had a heart-shaped face and large blue eyes. 

_She kind of looks like a dol_ l, Will thought, approaching the tall iron gates surrounding the property _. A sad doll, but still._

"Hi," he replied, trying to downplay his discomfort. He'd never been good at talking to girls, especially pretty ones. "How's it going?"

She stared at him, the breeze ruffling her wispy sundress and making her appear vaguely ethereal. Finally, she smiled slowly.

"I'm not really sure how I feel right now," she said, "when I figure it out I'll let you know." She paused, petting through the dog's fur. "You?"

He smiled as well, liking her answer for its honesty and refreshing strangeness. "I'm about the same, though I have to say I'm surprised."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, I didn't expect to find someone my age just out of nowhere like this."

"How old do you think i am?" She asked, her expression becoming curious. 

"Fifteen? Sixteen, maybe?" Will asked, afraid he'd already put his foot in his mouth. 

"Fifteen," she said, smiling wider. Slowly, she began walking toward the gate, the dog following after her. "What's your name?"

Relieved, Will leaned against the black bars. "Will. I live down the street." Hesitating, he added quickly, "i mean, I'm staying there for the summer with -"

"The eccentric, handsome doctor," the girl supplied, her tone mischievous. "I see you working in the yard sometimes. Earning your keep?"

Will flushed lightly. So he'd been noticed from afar; it felt strange. "More or less. He's been very good to me, so I try to help out as much as I can."

She tilted her head. "He keeps odd hours. Are you his nephew or something?"

"Well, no," Will admitted, not really sure how to describe their relationship with each other. He couldn't very well tell the girl that Hannibal had caught him trespassing and taken him in out of sweet charity. "Okay, sure, actually. We'll go with that."

She stifled a laugh behind her hand, but didn't pry. "Well, Will, it's nice to meet you."

"The pleasure's mine," he replied, "but you still haven't told me your name. That isn't fair, is it?"

"I suppose not," she said carefully, looking over her shoulder like she heard something rustling in the fragrant grass. Turning back, she looked troubled but she shook it off quickly. "Margot."

"And who's this?" Will asked, indicating the dog, who'd plopped down in the grass, its muzzle resting on its paws. 

A fleeting look of melancholy passed over Margot's face when she considered the creature, kneeling down to brush her fingers over its head. "Winston." She looked up, squinting against the dying sunlight. "He's quite the handsome boy, isn't he?"

"He certainly is," Will said. He reached out a hand. "May I?"

"It's up to him," Margot smiled. "What do you think, Winston?"

The dog wagged its tail and lifted itself, leaning forward to sniff Will's hand tentatively. Will studied him, taking note of maroon-tinged patches in the dog's fur. As gently as he could, he stroked Winston's head. 

"My father wouldn't let me have a dog," he commented, "he said they're too much trouble."

"Winston is a saving grace," Margot said, "even if he doesn't technically belong to me. Papa's possessed of the "every boy should have a dog" mentality."

Will looked up, confused. "Who does he belong to, then?"

Margot sighed softly before speaking, "Let's not spoil what's turning out to be a perfectly pleasant exchange, okay?"

Will stared, not understanding but touched by something deep in the girl's expression; almost like he was witnessing a silent cry for help. "But you -"

"Margot, where are you?" A voice rang out; stilted and slightly whiny. Margot and Winston both visibly tensed, the dog tucking his tail between his legs. Margot bit her lip, her eyes flitting away from Will's like restless hummingbirds.

A boy emerged from around the house then, blonde hair in disarray and the sun glinting off his glasses. He peered at the trio, bringing a hand up to shade his eyes. 

"You should go," Margot murmured, standing slowly. She gripped a hand in the short material of her dress, drawing it up to reveal a pale, thin thigh. "It's in your own best interest."

Hopelessly confused, Will stood his ground, looking beyond Margot to the boy advancing on them, put-off by the disquieting presence he exuded; a slightly crazed twist to his features. The boy stared, a grin like a grimace on his face; light blue irises so bright as to appear lit from within. 

Will could feel the hairs on his neck rising the closer he came. Margot's face took on a faraway bend, like she wasn't entirely present, while Winston huddled closer to her legs. 

"You'll burn, Margot," the boy said, and Will was even more repelled somehow. Stopping next to the girl, the newcomer swept a hand through her long hair to clear it off her shoulder, revealing a long pink scar beneath. She stood still, eyes remote, and the boy turned to Will. "Who are you? Why are you here?"

By some miracle, Will was able to keep the majority of the disgust from his voice when he replied. "I was just passing by."

The boy waited but Will didn't continue. He laughed, an odd, ejaculatory sound, like it couldn't be controlled. "That's it, you were just passing by?" He looked at the girl. "You hear that, Margot? He was just passing by!"

Eyes downcast, Margot was still as a statue now, only responding when the boy tugged a lock of her hair. "We were just talking, Mason. He's staying at a house up the street for the summer."

"Are you?" Mason asked, eyes widening. "Well, welcome to the neighborhood..." he paused, gesturing with his hand until nudging Margot sharply. 

"Will," she said softly. 

"Will!" he exclaimed. "And you're staying for the whole summer, huh?"

Will nodded, noting the similarities in the pair's faces, though truth be told Margot was much easier on the eyes and the nerves. "Yeah, I was getting to know your sister, and Winston too, of course."

The dog whined softly at the sound of his name, looking up with a shy thump of its tail. 

"Well, of course!" Mason said too loudly, his speech patterns and volume making Will uneasy; they seemed to lack rhyme or reason. "Can't overlook old Winston, can we?"

Reaching out, Mason attempted to pat the dog but he recoiled, moving behind Margot. This didn't seem to faze him though. Instead, he let loose his disconcerting laughter again. 

"Makes me miss the pigs even more," he sighed, running a hand through his unsettled hair. He caught Will's eye. "Papa's touring the Kansas stockyards this summer, but he promised to take me next time." He pulled a knife from his pocket and flipped up the blade, the silver of it catching a sparkle of muted sunlight. 

Margot sucked in a breath, the sound nearly inaudible. 

"Speaking of unbehaved creatures," Mason went on, "how did you know we were siblings? Did Margot tell you or was it just a lucky guess?"

"I noticed the family resemblance," Will said wryly, watching the knife and how carelessly Mason handled it. 

"Oh, please don't say that," Margot finally spoke. 

Hiding a smile, Will kept an eye on the knife as Mason waved it around like a demented flag, laughing and slapping his knee; putting on a show. He chucked his sister's chin. 

"Got a mouth on her, always has," Mason crowed. "They say she's the funny twin, you know that?"

"And what are you?" Will asked, trying to garner Margot's attention but she didn't raise her eyes. 

"We still haven't figured that out," she said softly, hand still twisting in her skirt. 

"She's feeling her oats today, can you tell?" Mason asked before taking a hold of Margot's nape, squeezing until the girl mouthed wordlessly in obvious pain. 

Will was about to intervene when Winston growled low in his throat, rising to stand in front of Margot; hackles raised. Unperturbed, Mason ignored him, though he did let go of his sister. 

"Auntie sent me to bring you inside," he said to his sister, using the knife to clean under a nail. "For dinner, and now I'm all preoccupied. Shame on you, Margot; turning my head again."

"We're staying with our aunt while papa's away," Margot said to Will unnecessarily. "We actually have a farm a couple hours from here -"

"Muskrat Farm," her brother interrupted, "a little slice of heaven right here on earth."

Margot didn't comment but her face told Will multitudes about her opinion of their home. He narrowed his eyes at Mason, disliking him all the more for every second that passed, for every word he spoke. 

He especially hated him for putting the look of unadulterated fear in Margot's eyes, for making Winston cower. Their reactions hit too close to home, and Will could clearly see from their point of view, bowing to someone who was all too willing to use force whenever they felt the need. 

"We should go," Margot whispered, finally looking at Will beneath full lashes, and he was almost positive he saw a tear lingering in the corner of her eye. It didn't drop, languishing there but it was enough. "I wouldn't want to keep auntie waiting."

"Yes, wouldn't want to appear rude and ungrateful, would we?" Mason chimed in irreverently, appearing delighted for seemingly no reason. He took a hold of his sister's arm, fingers sinking into her skin. 

Will's own hands clenched into fists at his sides. He would've climbed the bars and attacked Mason then and there if he didn't think it would've created more trouble for Margot. As it stood, he held onto Margot's gaze, trying to subliminally communicate that he saw her brother for the soulless sack of shit he was. She smiled, but it was faint and it didn't quite travel to her eyes. 

"I hope we'll see each other again," she said, even though she'd probably pay for saying it in front of her brother. "I think Winston's taken a shine to you."

Coming forward, the dog made sure to keep Mason in his sights as he drew closer to Will. Reaching through the bars, Will stroked him, hand sliding over the creature's glossy coat. He didn't want to leave, but he wasn't sure what he could really do at the moment, and the anger low-simmering in his belly was making it hard for him to control himself. 

"Chop chop, Margot," Mason sang out, turning her around to reveal where her sundress dipped low in the back, revealing more jagged scars. He gave Will a dismissive glance, waving his knife over his head. "See you around, Walt."

"It's Will," he said through gritted teeth, lingering on those scars until he felt nauseous with rage and a deep, caustic sadness. 

"Whatever," Mason replied indifferently. "Winston, come!"

Whining low, Will could feel the dog trembling, and he spoke softly to him, "go on, boy. You need to look after your mistress. She needs you."

Almost like he understood, the dog moved away after licking Will's hand, giving him one last plaintive look before trotting slowly away. In the distance, Margot allowed herself to be led into the house, not looking back even though Will desperately wished she would; heart sinking as he watched the door close behind her. 

\-----  
Try as he might, Will couldn't settle that evening, moving restlessly through the empty house and watching the clock; the hours dragging on until it became agonizing. 

As promised, Hannibal was late coming home, much later than usual, coming into the kitchen and obviously surprised to see Will going through the fridge; not really hungry but needing a distraction. 

"Hey," he said, nervously tapping his foot, the cold light from the fridge falling on his face. Slowly, he shut the door, feeling the need to explain himself. "I couldn't sleep."

"Evidently," Hannibal replied, carefully removing his suit jacket and meticulously folding it. He set it aside before taking a bottle of wine from the fridge. He held it up and smiled. "Can I interest you in a nightcap?"

Will sighed before shrugging. "Why not? Maybe it'll help me calm down."

"I take it your outing didn't provide the catharsis you were hoping for," Hannibal commented, pouring wine into two glasses. He offered one to Will, who cradled it in his hands. 

"I feel worse, honestly," Will replied, remembering the scars on Margot's back and feeling enraged all over again. Taking a sip, he grimaced at the bitter spirit before giving the doctor a look. "You're home pretty late. Do your psychiatry appointments usually last until almost midnight?"

Hannibal's expression was wry as he drank from his own glass. "I'm certain my doctor would never allow for that; Bedelia is very set on drawing clear cut boundaries between us - and they don't extend to the wee hours."

"Then where have you been?"

"Chasing my own catharsis, as it were," Hannibal said smoothly before he unbuttoned his sleeves and rolled them up. "Did you have your dinner?"

Will nodded, mulling over Hannibal's answer; frustrated by how vague it was. "It was perfect, as always."

"Fames est optimum condimentum," Hannibal replied, going to the fridge and lifting out a plate filled with fruit, cheese, and sliced meats; marinated olives. He set it between them. "I'm eating late tonight. Would you care to join me and we can discuss your adventure?"

"It was hardly an adventure," Will said, plucking up an olive, charmed by Hannibal's pretentious little idiosyncrasies; using Latin in casual conversation, although it was difficult to have a casual exchange with the doctor most of the time. He seemed repulsed by idle chatter. "I went to the Harbor to visit my old stomping ground and then looked for the dog."

"Did you find it?" 

Nibbling the olive, Will watched Hannibal indulge in deep violet grapes and a wedge of gouda. His clever mouth was sensual as he sucked a grape between his lips, and Will had to quickly look away, feeling warm. 

"I think so, but I found more than that."

Hannibal lifted his eyes while smelling the wine in his glass. "Do tell."

"A girl," Will admitted, just wanting to unburden the ache in his heart, the gnawing fury in his gut. "And her brother, they live up the street in that big house on the corner."

"You must be referring to the Verger children, Margot and Mason, " Hannibal commented. "They routinely visit their aunt during the summers."

"You would know that," Will sighed. He looked at him, wanting to appear casual. "She's nice, i think. A little strange, but who isn't?"

"The most fascinating people I've met have always had a thread of peculiarity running through their personalities." Hannibal glanced at him, a little glint in his eye telling Will he was probably included in that group. 

"Anyway, there's just something off about that whole situation," Will went on, looking into his wine glass. "It was very... tense, and the boy seems really controlling. Unpredictable, too."

"Unsurprising, really," Hannibal replied, "he's the heir to the Verger business and fortune. He cut his teeth on being indulged and pampered. That typically doesn't yield a retiring nature."

"What business?"

"The Vergers run a meatpacking empire; pigs and cattle, mostly. They slaughter thousands of animals every day." Picking up a piece of meat, salami by the looks of it, Hannibal slid it between his teeth. 

"That seems to fit his temperament," Will muttered. "I don't know how to explain it, but I know that guy, Mason or whatever, is mistreating his sister. And Winston."

Hannibal gave him a curious look. "I take it that's the dog you heard." 

Will nodded. "The way he spoke to her, touched her. You should've seen the look in her eyes."

Hannibal studied him for a moment, seeming to consider this. "This is a look you've seen before."

Will shifted in his seat, eyes straying. "Perhaps."

The doctor was quiet now as he swirled his wine. "I get the impression that your understanding of the situation, what you perceive, is profound...as if you were experiencing it yourself."

Hugging himself, Will nodded. He bit his lip until he thought his teeth would go straight through the fragile skin. "I can imagine her hiding, or trying to hide from him... looking around corners before turning them - "

"And always wondering when the other shoe is going to drop," Hannibal finished softly, soothingly. "Because it always does, doesn't it? Eventually?" He paused to brush a hand over his mouth. "How many shoes have dropped in your life, Will?"

"Too many," Will murmured, remembering times of pain, of trying to remain so quiet it was as if he were fading; wanting to fade in many respects. 

"How old were you when your mother died?"

Looking up, Will cocked a brow. "Why?"

Hannibal gazed at him, face smooth and inscrutable. "I'm just wondering how long it's been just you and your father living together."

Cautiously, Will took a drink of wine, holding it for a moment. He swallowed, trying to stay calm. "She passed when I was a baby." Bitterly, he added, "that has nothing to do with this situation."

Hannibal hummed. "It would seem that you want to step in on this girl's behalf. Be her champion, so to speak."

"Hannibal," Will replied, covering his eyes, "her brother was waving a knife around like it was a toy, and she had these scars on her back." Taking deep breaths, the rage was building again. "I know it isn't my place and I know i could be wrong -"

"But what if you aren't?"

Letting out a long puff of air, Will nodded. "Yeah. What if I'm not."

"Then you're proposing that the knife needs to be pointed in a different direction; where it can do the most good."

Will stared, an uneasy feeling growing in him from Hannibal's tone. "Metaphorically speaking, sure." Setting his glass down, he tried to choose his next words with deliberate care. "Do you mind if I ask why you're out so late sometimes?"

"Not at all," Hannibal replied easily, pouring himself more wine. "So long as you don't mind if I ask questions of my own."

"That depends."

"Then we've reached an impasse for now, I'm afraid. I can't offer up my secrets if you can't do the same... it would imbalance our relationship. We can't have that, can we?"

"Our relationship is already imbalanced, isn't it, because you're so much older than me?" 

"Yes, but we've ascertained that you're only a child in age, Will, certainly not in temperament," Hannibal smiled. Cocking his head, he considered Will for a long moment, so handsome in his charcoal vest and cranberry tie; slight shadows under his high cheekbones. "Is there anything i can do for you now to ease your mind? It wouldn't do for you to fall asleep with so much static in your head."

Will thought a moment before clenching his hands in his shirt, another oversized pajama top of Hannibal's. Meeting his eyes, the heat in his cheeks moved down his throat. "Play for me? Just for a while?"

Hannibal seemed pleased with this request. "Until you nod, then."

Soon they were seated side by side in front of the harpsichord, the moonlight spilling into the room like rich milk, and the music was pouring out from beneath Hannibal's fingertips. 

"Mariage d'Amour,*" he'd said before beginning, leaning down slightly; spicy scent flush under Will's nose. "I think you'll like it."

Will had wanted to tell him that he was sure he'd like anything Hannibal played but he held back. Instead, he drifted as the music wound its satin ribbons around him. He watched the doctor's hands, strong and large, flying over the keys and wanted to touch them...oddly, he also wanted to be touched by them. He had a feeling they'd be gentle. 

It wasn't long before the music had lulled him, and he yawned behind his hand, aware that he was so close to Hannibal that he could feel his heat. Will had never dared sit this close before, and suddenly he wanted to lean his tired head against that comforting presence and just sleep for a while. 

"You may rest if you like," Hannibal spoke, still playing. "Or would you like to go to your room?"

"No, I want to stay," Will murmured. Holding his breath, he lay his cheek against the doctor's arm, hardly believing his own forwardness. Hannibal was just so calming and strong, a seemingly unmoveable force that Will hadn't realized he'd been starving without. Only when the man didn't move away did Will allow a sigh to escape. 

Nuzzling closer, Will curled into the doctor's side like a cat, face burning but some of his worries already melting away until they became ether. "I want to be able to tell you my secrets," he said quietly, meaning it. 

"You're afraid," Hannibal replied. 

Will shook his head. "No, I'm angry. That's part of the reason I ran away. I was so angry I could barely see straight."

"Well, it would behoove us to direct that rage in a worthwhile direction, don't you think?"

"Yes, but I don't want to lose control. If I do..." Will shifted, rubbing his cheek lightly against the fine fabric of Hannibal's shirt. "I don't know what I'm capable of, Hannibal."

"We'll have to find out, won't we?" Lifting a hand, hannibal passed his fingers through Will's curls before turning back to his playing. "Maybe then we can explore the things you're running from... so you can turn around and face them."

All at once, Margot's scar-covered back became pronounced in Will's mind's eye, and he grit his teeth. Juxtaposed with this were memories of his father, smelling of wind and salt water when he came home at night; sullen and red-eyed. His hands were so different than Hannibal's; rough with calluses and chapped from the elements.

"Where do you go at night?" he whispered, turning his face against the doctor's arm. A slight tension in Hannibal's muscles came and went. 

"Let's just say i have certain appetites that can't always be satisfied during the day," Hannibal replied, starting a new song; this one a lullaby. "But that's a conversation for another day, i think. After all, there are many weeks of summer left."

"Not enough," Will sighed, but willing to let the subject go for a while. Instead, he slowly shut his eyes and sank into the feeling of being so close to Hannibal, even when he insisted on being so thoroughly enigmatic. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Richard Clayderman


	7. hannibal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: violence
> 
> Enjoy! ❤
> 
> PS: i hope someone likes this. I feel like I'm barking in the dark here, you guys. 🤣

_**"The heart has its reasons of which reason knows nothing...we know the truth not only by the reason, but by the heart." - Blaise Pascal** _

* * *

"You seem pleased today."

Bedelia, as always, spoke in her carefully controlled voice, giving the impression that she'd never uttered a harsh or loud word in her life. Impeccably groomed, she sat across from Hannibal in a grey pencil skirt and crimson blouse; smooth hair laying artfully on her shoulders. 

Hannibal allowed a smile after he'd considered her words. He saw no reason to contradict the truth. 

"I am," he replied, crossing his legs; settling in. 

She regarded him with guarded blue eyes, her head held high; back ramrod straight. She waited, face smooth. 

"There's been a development of sorts, with my unexpected charge," Hannibal said. 

"The runaway." Bedelia watched him with uncompromised diplomacy. 

Hannibal smiled wider, appreciating her subliminal judgment. What she didn't convey in her words or tone was always evident in her body language, no matter how careful it was. Her surface and inner workings like two alien forces working against the other. 

"I've provided a safe haven for him."

"That would imply that he came from troubled circumstances," Bedelia commented. "Fitting, of course, considering he felt the need to leave."

Hannibal smoothed a hand over his pant leg, unnecessarily so. "He hasn't said as such but the evidence is there. He's improved, though. Considerably."

She arched a delicate brow. "What do you consider improvement?"

Just the night before, Will had tucked himself close to Hannibal's side while he'd read his book; staying close when he'd moved to the harpsichord. This had been the trend for weeks now, ever since Will had met the Verger children. The memory filled him with warmth, seeping into his bones where he normally felt nothing. 

"He's less averse to human contact," he finally said. "Before, he was like a skittish animal, but now -"

"Is he eating from your hand, Hannibal?" Bedelia asked, flitting her eyes away in a mock expression of innocence. 

Hannibal stared, knowing that in her own way, Bedelia was goading him. He didn't rise to the bait, though there was a pulse in him -

A thirst. 

"He's sleeping more soundly, wants to engage more. And," he added, "he's made a friend."

She raised both her eyebrows now before crossing her legs, slim thighs pressed hard together. Hannibal remembered parting them after a session that involved too much wine. Bedelia had mewled in his ear, had begged for more, but you'd never know that to see her now. 

"Oh?" she asked, still so removed. So wonderfully impassive. 

"A girl in the neighborhood. Someone in need of saving, very much like himself."

"What are you saving him from?" Bedelia asked, finally showing some tentative interest. 

"Heaven only knows," Hannibal replied, though he knew all too well. "He won't talk about where he came from."

Bedelia was quiet for a moment, eyes straying to the tall windows where the summer blue sky shimmered its late afternoon heat waves. "Give him time. From what I understand of your past, you're not entirely forthcoming with your origins either." She turned to him. "Some pain runs so deep that it can't be described in just words, and even then it can't be disclosed to just anyone."

"Rooms where the mind won't," Hannibal smirked, "or can't, revisit. Will has those places in his head. But we all do, don't we? Even you." Redirecting, he went on, "He's found an outlet in this girl, though. She's vulnerable, and her family encourages her vulnerability."

Bedelia looked at him a moment, readjusting; lips twisting like she wanted to say something inflammatory but thought better of it. "Perhaps he shouldn't get involved."

"I have reason to believe he couldn't live with himself if he looked the other way," Hannibal replied, thinking back to just the other night; answering the door to see a pretty girl standing there, woebegone with her long hair in a fish tail braid; clothed in cut offs and a teal colored halter top. She'd had a golden dog with her, sitting patiently at her side.

"I'm sorry," she'd said, rosebud lips quirking, "but I thought Will lived here. I hope i didn't get the address wrong."

Her expression had told Hannibal that she'd known exactly what she was doing, had known exactly whose door she was standing in front of -

"You didn't," Hannibal had said. "Shall i call him for you?"

At the time she'd been wearing heart-shaped sunglasses, and she'd pushed them off her face; a dark bruise blooming on one pink cheek. "Could you? I'd appreciate it."

Will had been dozing with a book on his lap, a sturdy volume filled with Aesop's fables, and Hannibal had been soft when he'd woken him. 

"You have visitors," he'd said, fondly amused at the rumpled, warm-cheeked boy lounging in the wing backed chair. "A girl. And a dog."

Will had rubbed his eyes before he'd sat up, slow to understand, but when he had his blue eyes had become saucers. 

"Margot? What the hell is she doing here?"

He'd jumped up and Hannibal had watched him receive his visitors; flushed but so endearingly appreciative. 

"I don't think he has a lot of experience with friends, or acquaintances," hannibal told Bedelia how, coming back to the present. "He's starved in those respects."

"Hmm," she said, lifting a wrist to check her watch. "I imagine most people are, in the true sense." Running her fingers over her arm, she looked up. "I'd say that sort of loneliness is most painful in children, but i don't really think that's true. Being without companions or comraderie is a trial at any point in life. Man wasn't meant to walk alone."

"You walk alone," Hannibal commented, seeing a crack and exploiting it. "At least you have ever since I've known you."

"By choice," Bedelia said. "The decision wasn't taken from me."

"I believe it was taken from Will, until now," Hannibal replied. "Until I found him."

Bedelia watched him after he said this, the moment stretched long; silence moving in the room along with floating, fragile dust motes. She had a slight smile, but it was no indication of amusement. 

"I may be wrong in saying this," she said slowly, "but I don't believe your intentions are entirely altruistic with regards to this boy."

"Will," Hannibal supplied, having not given up the boy's name before now; holding it close and protecting it the way he'd nurse a wound. "And, no, my motivations aren't completely unselfish." He narrowed his eyes as they regarded each other. "You'd be hard pressed to find anyone who doesn't have their own agenda in mind at any given time."

"True, humanity is inherently selfish," Bedelia agreed as if this were a foregone, irrefutable conclusion, "but i have to wonder how much of your agenda is coming into play here." She frowned. "Just what are you planning here, Hannibal?"

He stared at her then, long enough for her to become noticeably uneasy, before he offered a small twitch of his lips. "I'm a casual observer in all of this, Dr. Du Maurier. Whatever happens will be entirely up to Will. I'll only offer my thoughts or guidance if he requests them."

"All of this is serving you somehow," she said, turning her head. She seemed to be done with eye contact for the moment. "I know you like to care for people, Hannibal; more than others would suspect. You dote, but," she glanced back at him, "in your own way. I just want you to do it for the right reasons."

"As for the girl he's met," she added, standing, "it's noble that he wants to help her, but if he's getting involved because he wants a distraction from his own problems, that's hardly beneficial to either of them." 

"Perhaps to his way of thinking, if Will can help her, he'll be able to convince himself that his own problems aren't insurmountable," Hannibal mused, watching as Bedelia went to the wet bar. She walked on her high heels with an almost thoughtless grace that he altogether admired.

Considering this, Bedelia set out two wine glasses. "Red or white?"

"Red is fitting for today, i think," Hannibal replied, accepting the glass with a gracious nod when she offered it to him. He swirled it gently before inhaling deeply of its heady, rich scent. There was plum present, hints of black pepper; he drank, relishing the flavor on his tongue. 

Sitting back down, Bedelia rested her glass on her knee. "You rather like having someone waiting for you at the end of the day."

"I do," Hannibal nodded. 

"How easily you've welcomed someone into your space," she said, "when you're typically such a solitary creature. It's as if you're twisting yourself to accommodate him."

Hannibal drank again, already thinking of the engagement he had in mind following his session. It'd be dark soon. He also thought of Will waiting for him in the large house; wondered if he'd still be awake in order to receive him. A small pull in his belly developed at this idea. 

"I'm not above making room in my life when the situation calls for it," he finally said. "Will is an exception to many of my rules... he's worth my efforts and my time." Smiling, he drank again, rather enjoying the look of vague suspicion that flitted over his psychiatrist's face in that moment. 

\------

The night was murky, reminiscent of when Hannibal had first discovered Will; no stars, and only the black, endless sky filled with bloated clouds. The change had developed quickly after he'd left Bedelia's home; a summer storm brewing. 

He liked it, the ominous feeling in the air; the heaviness. It filled Hannibal with a potent energy as he watched the girl through her front window. She moved easily, so very unaware, and her long hair fell down her back in a dark stream. She wore a tank top and sleep shorts, lounging on the couch as the blue light from a TV washed over her face. 

She worked in a small bookstore situated on Fayette Street, very close to the hustle of Lexington Market. Hannibal had happened to engage her several months before, and had found her manners lacking, not to mention her customer service skills. Grace was her name; Grace Sullivan. 

A yellow cat jumped on her lap and she idly scratched its head. All around, the street was silent and deserted, and that was when Hannibal made his move. He kept to shadows, walking lightly as he'd taught himself, muscles taut and ears open as he stole through the yard. Once there, it was easy enough to pick the lock to the cellar steps. 

He was inside of her house within a few minutes, and then he was traversing her basement; the room dank with the scent of old paper and water damage and earth. Above his head, hannibal could hear the canned laughter coming from the TV. Soon, he was up the stairs and in her kitchen, a cozy room with yellow paint and puffy white curtains. 

The cat noticed him first, which came as no surprise to him. It jumped out of Grace's lap and she cursed loudly. 

"You scratched me, you asshole! What the hell is wrong with you?"

The cat fled and that's when Grace looked up to see the strange man suddenly standing in her living room. Eyes widening, she stood, seemingly so frightened she couldn't even speak. Instinctively, she backed away, and Hannibal was sure that the hair was standing up on her arms and the back of her neck. He sniffed the air, and he could smell her overwhelming, quick fear; acrid and thick. 

Unceremoniously, he strode toward the girl, and in the last moment before he was upon her, he couldn't help but notice she bore a striking resemblance to Margot Verger.

\------

Hannibal was buoyant as he drove home a few hours later, careful of the rain that had started falling just as he'd plucked out Grace's sharp, uncivilized tongue. 

He'd filled her mouth with pink flowers instead; delicate peonies that spilled from between her lips. She'd watched in horror, only able to make watery sounds at that point in the evening. Hannibal had smoothed the hair from her face and shushed her. 

It was about the time that he'd replaced her heart with more flowers that she'd finally left the world behind, and he could recall the feeling in his hand when the organ had given one last sluggish pump. He sighed now, slightly embarrassed by his lapse into whimsy; once again bringing home a heart to Will, only this time it was intentional. 

It was a nice feeling. He only hoped that the boy would still be awake. 

Hannibal was also possessed of a deep, cleansing relief, as he so often was after slipping into the skin of the Chesapeake Ripper. The pressure would build for weeks, months, until it threatened to leak out of his pores, and he was nothing but chaos; scarcely contained. 

But when the blood flowed and skin was parting, things could once again be put into a perspective Hannibal could appreciate. The carnage paved the way for respite, and the world could turn a little more smoothly. It was his own version of the natural order. In the eyes of his victims he found the peace that had been running from him, and he almost had to love them for it. 

The lights were on when Hannibal returned home, and this only contributed to his good mood. When he saw Will huddled on the front stoop, clothed only in his boxers and a white tshirt, his mood turned slightly. It turned even more when he saw the dog sitting next to him. The rain had stopped, but he was sure it was momentary; air humid and pressing down. 

Shivering, Will looked up as the doctor approached, face stricken, and slowly raised his hands. In the golden light of the porch, Hannibal could see that they were slicked with blood; cracked and maroon as it dried. 

"Please," he practically sobbed, and Hannibal could see that his cheeks were streaked with tears. There was a jagged laceration on his forehead, gaping. "I didn't mean to do it, any of it. I just wanted to help."

The dog whined softly and nuzzled him, its own soft fur streaked with blood. Will, in a decidedly childish fashion, turned to the animal and put his arms around him. Hugging him close, he cried like his heart was breaking. 

Hannibal observed, very still as the first drops of rain fell and exploded on the pavement. He thought of the heart in his car, meticulously packed in ice and waiting. He hadn't wanted to bring it in until Will was distracted. 

The scent of blood, metallic and vaguely sweet, wafted to him along with Will's boyish aroma; sweat and soap. He seemed so small in that moment. 

"Let's go inside and see to you," Hannibal murmured, reaching out a hand. Wryly, he added, "your guest may accompany us if you'd like."

Looking up, Will hesitated before he took the hand offered him, almost seeming afraid. He appeared reassured when Hannibal didn't flinch at the contact, at the squelch of blood when their palms met. He was pulled to his feet and he swayed, soft and pliable when Hannibal drew him close; fingers clenching in his suit jacket. Soon it was smeared with gore.

"I'm ruining it," he said, letting go. At his feet, Winston stayed close; eyeing Hannibal warily. "I've already ruined too many things today."

"Hush," Hannibal said, leading him to the door. "It can be washed. We need to focus on your needs now."

\-------

The water ran pink when Will washed the blood from his trembling hands. He was tight-lipped and fragile as he worked, glancing down often to make sure Winston was still there. He'd pushed Hannibal when he'd tried to assist, and the doctor had accepted this without comment. 

"It happened so fast, before I could stop it," he said, turning from the sink and looking at Hannibal with wide, haunted eyes. They were so dark they verged on being violet instead of blue. "And then there was so much blood, and all I wanted...."

He trailed off, his mouth becoming a tremulous thing, and new tears fell down his cheeks.

"He hurt her," he whispered, "in a way I can't even talk about, but he deserved it. I promise."

Hannibal was quiet as he set out his supplies. "You're going to need sutures." Lifting a bottle, he was about to prepare a syringe. 

"What's that?" Will asked suspiciously, pointing to the bottle of lidocaine. 

"A local anesthetic. It'll ease your discomfort."

"I don't want it," Will said quickly, eyes flashing. Winston whined at his tone. "I don't deserve it, not after what I did."

Somehow, Hannibal kept the pleasure from his tone when he replied. "Are you sure, Will? No one would blame you for seeking comfort at a time like this... even at the end of a needle."

"No," Will snapped. "Otherwise, I won't let you stitch me up at all."

"Very well," Hannibal sighed, setting the syringe down. "Come to me, then. We'll do this on your terms."

Will was stoic, a statue, when the needle first passed through his skin, after Hannibal had carefully cleaned the wound; capable hands gentle on the boy's smooth skin. He'd clucked his tongue, admiring Will's courage but livid that someone had seen fit to harm him. 

"It feels like fire," Will murmured, his voice becoming faint at the third pass of the needle; black thread stark against the pale flesh Hannibal so admired. 

"Is this your first time needing stitches?" Hannibal asked, moving closer. So close that he could see the tears still clinging to Will's long eyelashes. 

Will laughed, a bright uneven sound given the circumstances. "Not by a long shot. The hospital was a second home to me when I was a kid."

Hannibal took this bit of information and filed it away for later. "Is Mason still alive?"

Jaw clenching, Will shrugged before he groaned; hand creeping up to cradle the side of his head. "Yes. Unfortunately."

Drawing the needle out, Hannibal watched the light reflect the thick thread. Will would have a scar to remind him of these events; he'd carry it through the rest of his years, no doubt. 

"Were you trying to kill him, Will?"

Pulling away, Will studied Hannibal with red-rimmed, unsettled eyes. They were at once fearful but also fierce; the eyes Hannibal would imagine on a vengeful, battle-forged angel. The boy's face was hard, resolute, until something in him crumpled and he shrugged. 

"I don't know," he said softly, looking down at the floor. Holding out a hand, he stroked Winston when he came to him. "I mean, i can't be sure." He bit his lip hard, licking it slowly after. "Would it be awful to say that i wish I had?"

Covering his mouth, he stifled a sob. "What's wrong with me? I thought I'd left all of this behind. It was supposed to be over, but my thoughts just... they follow, and I can't hear anything else."

"At the end of the day you always come home to yourself," Hannibal murmured, lifting Will's head gently; unsurprised when he averted his eyes. "Who you are isn't going to change, regardless of where you are. You have to accept that."

"But what if I'm a monster?" Will whispered, closing his eyes. His voice was thickening now, no doubt from pain and fatigue. "What then?"

Finishing the neat row of sutures, Hannibal studied his handwork while he considered this question. "Will Margot Verger be safer tonight because of your actions?"

Will shook his head, eyes bleary when they opened, and Hannibal could only think of him as beautiful in that moment. He was a tragic figure grappling with the profound questions of life and all it contained; mercy and brutality in equal measures. 

"He hurt her," he repeated, "i wanted to help, because i know what it feels like to need someone. I know what it feels like to have no one."

A shudder moved through him then, and his face became so pale that Hannibal was almost certain he'd pass out, but he managed to stay coherent. "I'm so tired, Hannibal. I don't think I've ever felt this tired in my life."

"Let me help you to bed," Hannibal said, reaching for him, but stopped when Will clutched at him, needful and shaking. 

"I don't want to be alone tonight," he said, looking into Hannibal's face and he was fierce again. "I know I'm going to dream, and...." bowing his head, his voice broke, "i can't be alone. I'm so tired of waking up at night and nobody's there."

Hannibal hummed low in his throat, his body very aware of the warmth flooding the boy, the smell of his blood racing in hidden veins; caverns so deep and unexplored. Reaching, he placed a hand on Will's head and drew him near, careful of his wound. 

"Why did you leave home?" he murmured, turning Will's head so his cheek rested over his heart. 

A tremble moved through Will as he sighed. He relaxed like he was readying for sleep already. "I was afraid. And angry."

"Were you afraid of your father?" Hannibal pressed, only hesitating for a moment before kissing Will's hair; curls filled with the scent of summer and salt.

Will shook his head. "No, no. I haven't been afraid of him in a long time." Taking a deep breath, he curled closer, little body pressing hard against Hannibal's. "I was afraid of myself."

"Oh?" Hannibal kissed him again, lips lingering. 

"Yes," Will said softly, "I was afraid that if I stayed much longer, I'd lose control and I'd kill him...my own father. Can you believe that?"

"He was hurting you," Hannibal said gently. 

"Not anymore," Will said, sliding his hand over Hannibal's chest. "Now that I've found you, I'm safe. Aren't I?"

"Of course," the doctor replied, "from him and from yourself. Always."

"But you're still going to send me back soon."

Hannibal smiled slowly, looking out the window where the rain fell; scores of drops hypnotic. "Yes, but not for the reason you're thinking, and i won't make you stay, not if you don't want to."

Shifting, Will rubbed his cheek against Hannibal's shirt. "I don't understand."

"You will, soon enough," Hannibal assured him, already imagining the boy in his bed, wrapped up in soft blankets and slumbering like a kitten; innocent even now, even with the blood on his hands. "Come now, you need to sleep. The world will look brighter after you wake up... and you won't be alone when you do, i promise."


	8. Will

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy! <3
> 
> PS: thanks for the comments on the last chapter! they really lit a fire under me to keep going! :D

> _**“No live organism can continue for long to exist sanely under conditions of absolute reality; even larks and katydids are supposed, by some, to dream. Hill House, not sane, stood by itself against its hills, holding darkness within; it had stood so for eighty years and might stand for eighty more. Within, walls continued upright, bricks met neatly, floors were firm, and doors were sensibly shut; silence lay steadily against the wood and stone of Hill House, and whatever walked there, walked alone.”** _
> 
> _**― Shirley Jackson, The Haunting of Hill House** _

* * *

Will woke in the night with tears on his face and sweat pouring from him. 

The panic was thick in his chest when he first sat up, disoriented, and looked around. He'd dreamed of a girl with roses in her pale hair, the petals falling and turning to gore; ultimately pooling in the space between her thighs, and it had been too much. It had all proved to be too much. 

Now he couldn't seem to wake up completely, not until he felt a warm pressure between his shoulder blades and a gentle voice speaking:

"I'm here, Will. You aren't alone."

Will turned, and the dream behind his eyes faded and there was Hannibal, lying beside him. They were in _his_ bed, wrapped in _his_ blankets, and the night was pressing its cool darkness against the windows. Will tried to laugh, but it came out shaky; his head aching with a deep throb. 

"You know that feeling you get when you fall asleep in the middle of the afternoon?" Twisting the covers in his hands, he looked down. "You wake up and you have no idea where you are or what time it is...and the whole world is out of focus for a few minutes?"

"Is that what you're feeling now?" Hannibal asked softly, his hand still resting on Will's back. 

Will nodded, his head aching worse for the effort. He closed his eyes at a sudden wave of dizziness. "It would've been worse if I'd woken up in my own bed, though. By myself." Opening his eyes, he glanced tentatively over his shoulder; suddenly shy to see Hannibal there, shirtless and his hair mussed from sleep. 

Heat crept into him then, not just in his cheeks and down his throat, but in places Will was less comfortable considering; secret channels where blood rushed and pooled. 

"How is your head? Is the pain keeping you from sleep?" Hannibal asked, shifting his hand to settle on Will's nape. "I could give you something, if you'd like."

Will touched his head gently, fingers brushing against his sutures. It hurt, but in a way that was almost comforting. At least it was consistent. 

"No, I'll manage. Wait," he added, a thread of panic racing through him. "Winston, where's Winston?"

The sound of paws padding on the floor met Will's ears, and then the dog was at his side, brown eyes looking up at him; furry chin resting on the bed. Will let out a shuddery breath, embarrassed by his reaction. 

"Hey, boy," he murmured, cupping Winston's head and leaning his face against his soft fur. To Hannibal, he offered a small, grateful smile. "You actually let him sleep in your room?"

"I'm afraid he insisted," the doctor said, sitting up and rubbing his face. "He refused to let you out of his sight."

Winston wagged his tail, almost as if he knew they were talking about him. Will, still dazed from his nightmare and everything that had happened, was taken with a sudden rush of emotion. He hugged Winston closer. 

"I need to give you a bath tomorrow," he said, guilty for not being able to attend to him that very moment. "But I'll take care of you. Don't worry, okay?"

Whining softly, Winston licked Will's cheek. Sitting back, Will gazed at him. 

"I can't take him back there," he said, his heart slowly beginning to pick up its rhythm. "I couldn't even consider it."

He heard Hannibal quietly sigh. "I see."

"I'll understand if that's a deal breaker for you, but i can't do that to him. Winston's been through enough."

"And what of Margot?" 

Sucking in a breath, Will put a hand on Winston's head, seeking comfort. "I don't know," he whispered. "I want to help her -"

"You want to save her," Hannibal interjected in a gentle voice. 

Will nodded. "I don't know how to, though. Her situation is so complicated, and... It's just beyond anything I've ever experienced."

"I find that hard to believe."

Will looked at him sharply, wanting to succumb to anger but instead deflating. "My life with my father was different, Hannibal."

Hannibal raised his eyebrows in silent question. 

"Margot feels like she isn't allowed to fight back," Will muttered. "Like her hands are tied."

"And yours weren't."

"No, and that was the problem. That's why I had to leave, before I did something I'd regret."

Silence fell then, the only sound Winston's quiet panting and the thump of his tail on the floor as Will caressed him. 

"What did it feel like when you attacked Mason Verger, Will?" Hannibal asked, reaching up to stroke Will's curls. "Was it like you were rising up against your father, too?"

Pressing a hand to his mouth, Will considered this question; nausea welling up his throat. Hannibal's voice was soft and soothing, like a lullaby heard late at night right before he fell asleep. 

"I don't know," he finally said, his voice cracking. He shuddered, and Hannibal's fingers were sliding down his face and along his jaw. "It was like I could see everything from Margot's perspective, and I could feel the things that Mason had done to her... the things he was planning on doing to her, and I just snapped."

"I'm surprised you were able to stop," Hannibal said, something in his tone making Will take pause. Slowly, he turned to him, the doctor's large hand cupping his cheek. Their eyes met, and Will felt so warm and so afraid when he saw the strange light in his benefactor's irises. There was a hunger there, and such an intense interest he was nearly overwhelmed. 

"You...i," he tried to find the right words but they ran from him. He stopped and collected himself, clenching his hands in the coverlet. At his side, Winston propped his head on Will's knee. "Why do I feel like you would've been happier if I'd killed him?" Turning his face further into Hannibal's hand, he studied the doctor's impassive expression; smooth save for the storm in his eyes. 

"I'm wrong, right? You wouldn't," he cleared his throat, feeling unmoored suddenly, "you wouldn't actually want me to do something like that, would you? Hannibal?"

"That depends," Hannibal murmured, stroking his thumb down Will's cheek, "would you have felt more satisfied knowing Mason could never hurt his sister again? You clearly understand her position to some degree... one less monster in the world to worry about; there's a certain beauty at the thought."

"But that would make me a murderer, and," Will broke off, fading deep into his thoughts and remembering the fear he'd seen on Margot's face; worse yet, her _shame_ -

"The day started off so nicely," he said faintly, drawing closer to Hannibal's side until he was curled close. The man's cologne enveloped him, his warmth, and it all seemed so secure, so _safe_. "We were just going to hang out, but it turned ugly so quickly."

"You can tell me about it if you want," Hannibal offered, wrapping Will in a strong arm and leading his head to his chest. "If it would help."

"She came by not too long after you left for the day," Will said, comforted by the sound of Hannibal's heart under his ear; steady and sure. "She said she just needed to get away for a while."

She'd been wearing a pretty white sundress, her long hair up in an untidy bun. Will had fallen into step beside her and Winston, trying to ignore the scars on her back but still glancing at them every now and then. 

"I could tell she was trying to seem happy," he went on, "like, her voice was too loud, and she laughed too easily. Over nothing."

"Putting on a show," Hannibal murmured, running his fingers through Will's hair. 

Will shuddered, falling into this touch and thinking of Margot's obvious melancholy. "Exactly, but I didn't want to make things weird, so I didn't say anything. We walked to the Harbor and looked at the water for a while. I could tell she didn't really want to talk, so we just sat at the top of Federal Hill."

Winston jumped on the bed then, and Will tensed. He began to sit up but Hannibal held him, soothing Will with a soft kiss on his forehead, next to his aching wound. 

"It's all right for tonight."

Flushing warm, Will pressed himself tighter to Hannibal's side. Drawing a hand up, he shyly ran his palm over the hair on the doctor's chest. "Are you sure?"

Hannibal kissed his hair and Will almost melted at the sensation. "Yes, go on."

"It was nice, for the most part," Will sighed, seeing the bleeding colors of sunset in his mind, the way Margot had taken her hair out of the bun and let it fall around her shoulders. Her slim arms had been stained orange in the dying light of the sun, but Will had noticed purple bruises around her thin wrists. They'd bought ice cream cones and eaten them slowly as evening had begun to fall. 

Hiding his face in Hannibal's chest, Will could feel the pain in Margot's voice when he spoke next. "She told me she wished she didn't have to go home, and I asked her why, even though I already knew the answer."

"What did she say?"

Stifling a sob, Will continued to hide his face. "It isn't what she said so much as the way she said it. She just sounded so sad, so alone, and -"

"You know what that feels like," Hannibal murmured. "Dear boy, you've been alone most of your life, haven't you?"

"No, no," Will replied, shaking his head, "not in the same way."

Hannibal didn't speak then, merely holding Will close as he cried softly. Winston scooted near, his long body lined up reassuringly with Will's back. "My father tried his best, i know that. I can't fault him for resenting me. He didn't want me -"

"No," he added quickly, "i don't want to talk about that."

"No one's forcing you to," Hannibal said, warm breath flush against Will's hair. "Everything in its own time, Will."

"That's how she was, too," Will said, watching in his memory the tears falling down Margot's cheeks. "She cried but she wouldn't really say why, and when we started walking home she took her time." Shyly, he trailed his hand over Hannibal's collar bone. "She held my hand at one point."

"I'd never held anyone's hand before," he said, cheeks hot. "I never got that close to anyone. I didn't feel like I deserved that sort of thing. Is that stupid?"

"Not at all," the doctor replied, reaching to take Will's hand and squeezing it softly. 

"Oh," Will sighed, allowing this, _wanting_ it. Heat flooded the secret, aching place between his thighs and he squirmed, ignoring Winston when he shifted; sleek head turned to regard him. "Sorry, I just -"

He shook his head. "I liked the way she looked at me. It didn't make me feel uncomfortable... she looked at me like she trusted me, and everything was okay for a moment until it wasn't."

He lapsed into silence then, thinking of the unfolding ugliness, cradled in Hannibal's arms. Mason had been waiting in the yard, near the gates when he and Margot had approached, and he'd had that crazed, unfocused look on his face. 

"You're late, Margot," he'd said, with that disconcerting undercurrent to his voice; halfway between a laugh and a yell. "Auntie's been worried."

Will had felt a tremor move through Margot at these words and he'd pulled her close, acting as a shield. Mason's eyes had lit up, and he'd started tossing a silver wrapped article in the air, over and over. 

"Will?" Hannibal asked now, jarring him. Will sat up, gazing down at the man, not moving away when that large, careful hand touched his face again. 

"He started taunting her," he said, running fingers down Hannibal's abdomen, almost as an afterthought. Without giving it much thought, he slowly slid his leg over the doctor's hips while lying back again.

"What'd he say?" Hannibal asked, gripping Will's hip, a thumb grazing the bone pressing against his skin. 

Will looked at the handsome man beside him, and he almost lost himself. "He told her he had plenty more chocolates for her... more than she could ever want, and she just started to cry."

"And that was more than you could handle," Hannibal said, holding him tighter. Sinking his fingers in, he seemed pleased when Will sighed softly, leaning into him. 

"The gate was open, and I just saw red, I guess. I grabbed him, and he pulled out his knife, and then -"

Running a hand under Will's pajama top, Hannibal cradled his back; cool and firm. Will bent his head and breathed deeply. 

"I don't remember exactly, but I grabbed it, and when I came to my head was split open and he was on the ground; covered in blood. But he was laughing." Will shook his head, hot and so hard between his thighs. "He was bleeding like a stuck pig and this guy was laughing."

"What did you do?" Hannibal asked.

"I... it's hard to remember because I was so hazy at that point, but I tried to help, and I covered the wound with my hands, and there was so much blood - it was all over the grass, and the smell, God, it was so thick. I felt like I was suffocating -"

Leaning his head back, hannibal closed his eyes for a moment. "It was deep."

"In his side, on the right," Will replied, flushing at the husky sound of his voice. A bedroom voice, so much older than his usual tone. "I panicked, and Margot grabbed me, pulled me back. She told me to leave, to take Winston..."

At his name, Winston growled deep until Will looked at him, dazed at the feeling of Hannibal's hand on him. He smiled, and he felt so pleasantly tired, so _wanted_...

"What's funny is that Margot was so calm, looking down at her brother like she didn't even see him."

Dragging his hand up Will's back, Hannibal pulled him near so they were chest to chest, faces very close. They gazed at each other. 

"Maybe she was seeing an ideal, what could be," Hannibal suggested. "So long as she didn't interfere."

Will considered this, his eyes drifting down to watch Hannibal's mouth. He thought of how it had felt to run away from the Verger mansion, Mason cackling wildly, and the fireflies lighting up in the trees like millions of stars around Margot; delicate in her simple white dress with the lace on the hem. He'd run like a rabbit all the way back to Hannibal's home, where he'd stood trembling and panting before he'd gone inside, Winston close on his heels. 

"Why didn't you wash off the blood? Why did you choose to wear it until I came home and found you?" Hannibal asked, tipping Will's head up. 

A cold feeling opened itself in Will's head at this question, and his eyes flicked away to look at the ceiling dim with shadow. "Otherwise it didn't seem real," he whispered, "What I'd done, the way I lost control...i was like a different person in that moment. Someone I didn't recognize."

"Little wolf," Hannibal murmured, and the delight was evident in his eyes, his words. It made Will shiver. 

"You don't think I'm horrible for doing what I did?" Will asked.

"Quite the contrary," Hannibal replied, "I'm in awe of your ability to act on your most basic, fundamental instincts. You didn't deny yourself your impulses; it's remarkable."

Will stared at him, not questioning the doctor's statement because, somehow, he knew Hannibal wasn't lying to him. Heartbeat heightening, he also became painfully, acutely aware of just how close their bodies were; pressed tight, and he could feel the power in Hannibal's form. He was comprised of taut, sinewy muscle; evident through Will's thin clothing. 

Moisture built in his mouth, a deep hunger growing stronger the longer Will focused on so much contact. Timidly, he leaned forward, so close that he could feel Hannibal's warm breath on his face. 

"I'm feeling impulsive again," he murmured, hardly believing his own gall.

"Oh?" Smiling, Hannibal cupped his cheek. "What are you thinking, Will?"

Unable to articulate his desire, Will closed his eyes and pressed his lips to the doctor's mouth, humming deep in his throat; whole body waking up with a wonderful, blooming fire. The skin under his own was so soft, softer than he ever could've anticipated. 

A tightness ran through the body next to him and Hannibal was reciprocating, hands clenching in Will's shirt, but too soon he was gently pushing Will away. 

"Will," he said, almost a whisper, "there are certain places we can't travel to yet."

Ashamed, Will tried to hide his face, whining softly when Hannibal wouldn't allow for this; holding his chin firmly. "I'm sorry, I just thought you wanted me to."

"Clever boy, you didn't misinterpret anything," Hannibal wound a finger through a dark curl. 

Still looking down, face burning, Will touched his own mouth. "Then why did you stop?"

"As much as i respect giving into one's wants, i also respect the preservation of your innocence in this regard."

Will scowled. "So, it's okay for me to almost kill someone but kissing you is crossing the line?"

"At this juncture, yes."

Will rolled away from him, trying to mask his hurt with anger. "That doesn't make any sense."

"Doesn't it?" Hannibal asked quietly, keeping his distance. 

"No," Will snapped, scooting to the edge of the bed until he almost fell off. Winston had jumped down and was panting softly close to Will's face. Needing reassurance, Will rested a hand on the dog's head. "I think you're just making fun of me, messing with my head. You're just interested to see what I'll do next."

"You know that isn't true," the doctor sighed. "I hold you in very high regard -"

"Save it," Will snapped, dragging the covers up until they almost obscured his head. "I'm tired, anyway. I don't feel like talking anymore."

Silence and then Hannibal shifted, his weight pulling Will close. Holding his breath, Will wanted to give in and curl next to the doctor, safe in his arms but he refrained. 

"As you wish," Hannibal said softly. "Goodnight, Will."

Biting back his tears, Will didn't reply. Instead, he clung tighter to Winston, endlessly grateful for his solid, comforting presence. 

\-------

When Will woke the next morning, Hannibal was already gone, his side of the bed impossibly neat. In the air he could smell coffee brewing, and when he looked at the floor Winston was sleeping in a pool of sunshine. 

Will ducked under the blankets, trying to compose himself; hands clutched to his lips. 

"I kissed him," he said softly, mortified. "I kissed him on the mouth. Why did I do that? What was i thinking?"

Humiliation washed over him again, remembering the way he'd been pushed away, denied, and Will wanted to disappear into the warm darkness under the blanket. Too soon, though, he emerged and admitted he couldn't hide forever, especially not in Hannibal's bed of all places. 

Slipping from the soft bedding, he padded across the floor in his over-large shirt and bare feet, relieved to hear Winston clicking behind him. Together, they descended the stairs, passed down the hall, and then -

"Good morning, Will," Hannibal smiled, impressive and so at home in front of the stove, scrambling eggs. Meat sizzled in another pan, its rich aroma meeting Will's nose and enticing him closer. "I hope you're hungry."

It was the same thing Hannibal said to him almost every morning. Skilled hands fixing a feast but the doctor's cultured voice almost apologetic for making so much, but Will adored him for it -

_"I hope you're hungry."_

Will's own father had never said anything even close to this, had left his son to his own devices; certain that he'd figure things out. 

"You're smart," he'd said gruffly on more than one occasion. "I never have to worry about you taking care of yourself."

He'd said something like this right before he'd disappeared for three days; three long days, and by the end of those days Will had been scraping in the pantry for anything to eat, but he hadn't complained when his father had finally come home. No, he'd smiled and pretended he wasn't hurt and afraid because, really, his words wouldn't have made a difference anyway, right?

Besides, he was sure his father had meant well. He'd always meant well. 

"Can i help?" Will asked now, cradling Winston's head as he panted at his side. "I mean, after I let Winston out. I'm sure he has to," he faltered, looking down at the creature, "well, you know -"

"Go on," Hannibal smiled, and it seemed so genuine and indulgent. "I'm almost done here. I just need you to set the table."

Will nodded, laying his hand on Winston's head and leading him outside to the back garden, filled with pink peonies and roses and so much life. Hannibal was talented and sensitive when it came to cultivating plants, and Will couldn't help but shake his head at the thought while Winston relieved himself. 

"Why is he so perfect?" he murmured, watching the dog to make sure he didn't leave a mess behind. "Sometimes I feel like he isn't real and I just imagined him."

Raising his face to the sun, Will tried to calm himself before he went back inside, blood thrumming, his body alive and tensed with such a desperate, quiet need. 

With Winston at his side, Will set the table to Hannibal's exacting standards, keeping to himself and so shy whenever he entered the doctor's orbit. He ignored the way he ached for him, wanted to please him, even after they'd sat down together and started to eat. 

"It's delicious," he murmured, spearing a piece of meat and slipping it between his lips. He chewed and swallowed. "Is this heart? It tastes familiar."

Hannibal nodded. "I picked it up last night because you seemed to like it so much last time." He smiled softly. "The first night we ate together."

"Thank you," Will said, drinking some coffee, groping for anything to do with his hands. "You didn't have to do that, though."

Glancing at Winston, sunlight shimmering on his fur, Will was filled with guilt. "I'll clean up after him," he promised. "And if you want us to leave, I accept that. I really do."

Wiping his mouth, Hannibal looked at him in his quiet, thoughtful way. "Why should you leave?"

Will blinked, having not expected that response. "I'm sure you don't want a dog running around your house and messing it up... and i already told you I can't leave him alone or take him back, so..." Fidgeting, he floundered under Hannibal's watchfulness. "Just say the word and we'll..."

Hannibal laughed lightly. "Winston is as welcome as you are, Will, i assure you. I'm honored to have you both with me."

Will's hand clenched on his fork, and he had to remind himself to remain civil. "I appreciate that. I wouldn't feel right having a... place to stay if he didn't."

He'd almost said the word "home", catching himself at the last moment. The near-mistake was bitter sliding down his throat. "Thank you," he said again, looking down. "Really."

There was silence, his last word hanging heavy until Hannibal cleared his throat. 

"You're ill at ease this morning," he commented. 

"I wonder why," Will muttered, pushing the tines of his fork into a piece of heart. The memory of being pushed away, essentially dismissed by his benefactor stole his appetite. Pushing his plate away, Will lifted his head. 

"Can i be excused? Winston needs a bath."

Hannibal watched him, a slight tilt to his head. He flicked his eyes to the dog. "The red in his fur -"

"Blood," Will finished. "Mason's, and probably Margot's, too. Possibly mine. Who can say anymore?" he sighed. "What does it matter?"

"I think we should talk about this, Will."

"I've talked enough for now," Will replied tiredly before he stood, taking up his plate and retreating to the kitchen, Winston close behind. 

Before too long, Will had changed into his rattiest clothes and was out in the front yard, hosing Winston down and laughing to see him snapping at the water. The sun fell on them in cascades of gold, warm and bringing out the rich scent of the grass and flowers. For a moment, he was able to put all the ugly things from his mind and focus on what was right before him; a new friend, a companion that could love him without judgment. 

He was lathering soap into Winston's fur when he heard the front door open and there was Hannibal, beautiful in a sleek dark blue suit with a paisley tie; yellow and maroon. The light glowed on him, lit up the sheen of his smooth hair, and Will suddenly had to work to catch his breath. 

"I have a full schedule today, I'm afraid, so I'll be out rather late," Hannibal said, walking over; taking care to avoid the puddles as best he could. He stood beside Will, throwing his long shadow over the grass, over him. "Will you be all right on your own? If not, I can stay... you just have to say the word."

Rubbing his head, Will ignored the headache growing in his temples. More than anything, he wanted to ask Hannibal to stay, to take Will into his arms and just touch him the way he wanted and needed, but the desire died on his tongue. 

"It's okay, I'll be fine," he said, scratching behind Winston's ears. "I've been on my own plenty... I'm good at taking care of myself."

"You don't need to regard me the way you would your father, Will. If you tell me to stay, I won't chastise you for it; it's not an admission of weakness." He paused. "I thought we were going to be honest with each other, especially when we're in need."

"If that's the case," Will said, a snap in his voice, "then tell me where you go late at night... you've always been conspicuously evasive about that." He looked up, petulant. "Is that true honesty, Hannibal?"

Hannibal sighed, his overcoat laid neatly over his arm. "There's time enough for that, when I feel like you're ready. I need you to respect my desire to wait... it's for your own good, whether you believe it or not."

Will laughed, an ugly sound that came out like a bark. Winston whined and he shushed him, wanting to stop but also relishing lashing out; it made him feel less ashamed for being rejected. 

"For your own good," he repeated, shaking his head. "You better be careful, Hannibal... you're starting to sound like my father. He always liked to think he knew what was best for me, too."

Quiet descended, the tension laying thick, and Will kept his face turned away. Above him, Hannibal sighed again before speaking softly, "i left some pain medication for you in your bathroom should you need it. Take two after lunch... it can make you nauseous if taken on an empty stomach."

Will still wouldn't look at him, listening instead to the doctor's retreating footsteps as they whispered through the grass, clicked across the pavement, and then he heard the Bentley's door being opened. When the car roared to life he finally looked over his shoulder, guilty at the way he'd acted, wanting to take it back as he watched the car pull away and down the street. 

"I'm so stupid," he said softly, leaning his face into Winston's fur, feeling small; an ungrateful brat throwing a tantrum over not getting their way. "Of course he wouldn't want me like that, huh? I'm just a kid, an idiot, and he's..."

 _I don't even know how to classify him_ , he thought, feeling heavy as he began to wash Winston in earnest. Almost in an instant, the good mood he'd been enjoying was gone, a deep discontentment taking hold and flourishing. 

\------

It was a little after noon when Will finally got around to eating lunch, the throb in his head having grown exponentially after he'd bathed Winston. They'd sat outside in the warm air until the dog was reasonably dry, golden coat fluffing up nicely. 

Now Will was preparing the food Hannibal had left for him, soup and freshly made bread. 

"He made me chicken soup," Will said to Winston as he studied the contents of the bowl. "When the hell did he even have the chance to do that?"

Sipping the savory broth only made him feel more guilty, wanting to take back the words he'd said and cram them down his own throat. The house loomed around him, so quiet and still and empty without Hannibal. It felt different being alone in that place compared to where he'd come from. When he'd been by himself in the white house in Wolf Trap, it had been a relief. When the doctor was gone all Will could do was focus on the dense, silent air and Hannibal's absence, listening for footsteps that weren't there. 

Winston seemed unsettled too, eating the food Hannibal had left for him; what looked like ground turkey, brown rice and assorted vegetables. Will had just shaken his head when he'd found the bowl in the fridge, labeled in Hannibal's neat handwriting. 

The dog seemed very alert, ears cocked and listening; eyes straying to the large room where Hannibal kept his racks of wine and other incidentals. 

"Eat up, otherwise you'll hurt Hannibal's feelings," Will said, nudging the dog. "I've done that enough for the two of us... no need for you to jump in."

Winston yawned, licked his chops, but ultimately returned to his food. Will still noticed him looking up every now and then, his tail lowering; not exactly between his legs, but close. 

He was washing his dishes when he heard the doorbell ring, catching him off guard. At first, he was bewildered, but on its heels was sharp apprehension. Will slowly approached the door, very aware that Mason could be waiting on the other side, or worse yet, Papa Verger swooping in from the Kansas stockyards to exact his revenge on behalf of his demented son. 

On tiptoe, he checked the peephole and nearly fell over with relief to see Margot on the stoop instead. He was still overly cautious when he opened the door, though. 

She looked resplendent standing there in a black maxi dress with a slit up the side, hair unfettered and swirling in the hot breeze. She had sunglasses on that she pushed up when she saw Will. Smiling slowly, her large eyes filled with a strange light; effectively disarming him. 

"Sorry if I alarmed you," she said shrewdly, studying Will's face. "But I couldn't stay away."

"How could you?" Will asked, trying to calm his frantic heartbeat. "Who wouldn't want to talk to the guy who attacked their brother?"

"My brother deserved what he got and you know it," she replied without missing a beat; tone cold with finality. 

Will swallowed, nodding despite the fierce ache in his head. "You seem happy," he said, taken by the new-found spark in Margot's demeanor. "Does that mean he didn't make it?"

Margot threw her head back and laughed, deep and genuine until Will couldn't help but smile. Looking at him again, she wiped a tear from her eye. "No, I just don't have that kind of luck, I guess." Pushing the hair from her face, she went on, "but he's in the hospital, so at least he's out of the house."

"He was admitted for that? But I thought it wasn't that bad," Will said, his gut beginning to churn. "I mean, I know i got him pretty deep -"

Margot waved her hand. "Oh, they put him to rights quick as you please. Stitches, of course, but there wasn't any damage to his organs. No, papa insisted that his baby boy be kept for observation until he decided he was ready to leave." She rolled her eyes. "He's controlling like that, you see. He knows more than the doctors and why wouldn't he? He's a Verger male, after all. They all know too much for their own good... at least they like to think so."

"Christ," Will sighed, "and I'm sure your father's going to be thrilled when he finds out who hurt his precious child. I might as well dig my grave now, right?"

"About that," Margot said, pressing her fingertips together, "Mason didn't tell him anything when they spoke. I think he's embarrassed that you got the jump on him." Becoming bitter, she added, "he's not used to people who fight back." 

"I'm sure he's just biding his time. Lull me into a false sense of security and then get daddy involved."

"Possibly, but it doesn't matter," she murmured, less animated now. "If he says anything, I'll take the fall."

Eyes widening, Will stepped forward, Winston trailing behind him. "You can't do that, Margot; you already have enough to worry about without taking the blame for the stupid shit I pulled. I won't let you."

Her eyes cooled considerably at this; mouth tightening. "I've already decided, and you aren't letting me do anything. Besides, it's not like I'm acting on a whim...i thought things through and I need to do this."

"But, why? You're just hurting yourself."

"It'll humiliate Mason having people think i finally bit back," Margot said, caustic with malicious anticipation. "My family thinks I'm weak...they always have, but now I can show them i have power, too. The viciousness of a true Verger."

Will rubbed his mouth, surprised by her sudden penchant for cruel subterfuge, or maybe that had always been her nature and he just hadn't seen it. "He'll just refute your story."

"Oh, he will, but once the idea is in everyone's heads it won't matter anyway. It's more interesting if they think i attacked him, and at the end of the day people can't resist a good scandal." Sliding her sunglasses back down, she cocked a brow. "Now can they?"

"But you'll be punished, won't you?" Will asked faintly, reeling with weightless relief and a low current of guilt. "Who knows what your father will do, or Mason for that matter?"

She shrugged her delicate shoulders, nonplussed. "That won't be anything new, and I'll endure the way I always have... if anything, this'll just feed my resolve; give me something to cling to when I really need the boost."

"I can't talk you out of this, can I?" Will asked, tentatively beginning to accept defeat. 

She shook her head, her smile fading a fraction. "I needed a victory, Will, and maybe this isn't a huge one, maybe it won't make a difference in the long run, but i needed it all the same. Now Mason knows he isn't invincible, and..." she stopped, mouth trembling slightly. "Maybe next time I'll be the one with enough courage to stick a knife in his side, you know?"

"One day," she added, "I'll stuff the chocolates down his throat...probably until he chokes, and when that time comes, I'll remember what you did for me."

She looked at him with clear admiration until she suddenly stepped forward. Before he realized what she was doing, Margot was kissing Will's cheek softly, her perfume rising in a sweet cloud around him. 

"How'd you manage to do it?" she murmured. "It was almost like you didn't even have to think about it."

Face burning, Will couldn't formulate words for a moment. He touched his cheek and felt the stickiness of the gloss she'd left behind. Faintly, he said, "I didn't, actually. It was like a switch got flipped somewhere deep inside me...a switch I didn't even know I had."

She drew back to observe him a moment. "You've been in my position before, haven't you? I can feel it. Something," she added, brushing the curls from his forehead and away from his wound, "in your eyes, i think. It gives you away."

Biting his lip, he nodded. "It isn't hard to recognize one of your own kind."

"I won't pry," she said, kneeling to open her arms to Winston. "Just know that if you need to talk, I'm here."

"I'll remember that," he replied, grateful. He hesitated before adding, "I've never really had anyone to talk to like that."

"Not even your uncle?" She gave him a secretive smile, the way she said 'uncle' making heat flower in Will's cheeks. 

"That remains to be seen," he muttered, watching as Winston curled against Margot. She hugged him tight and sighed.

"I'm sorry," she whispered to him, "I should've protected you better, but Will will look after you...you're in good hands. Okay?"

"So you're sure it's okay if I keep him?" Will asked, guilty because he'd really just assumed that was the plan.

She nodded and stood, brushing some fur from her long skirt. "At least for now, I think. Who knows what'll happen before the end of the summer? Besides," she smiled, but now it was a little sad as she gazed at Will. "I think you need him right now."

He bowed his head, tears burning his eyes that he couldn't quite explain; something in her voice, he supposed. A wistfulness, a yearning almost, and more than ever he just wanted to be in Hannibal's arms; wanted to apologize for lashing out. He also wanted to hug Margot and tell her that the future would be better, but he knew there was no way for him to really know that.

"I'd better go," she said, giving Winston one last scratch behind his ear. "Auntie's taking me to the hospital to visit Mason, and you look like you need a nap."

"Is it that bad?" Will asked, touching his head.

"I'm afraid so," she said, her tone playful. "No offense, of course."

"None taken." Moving back, he held out a hand to Winston. Shyly, he looked down when he spoke next. "I'll see you again?"

"You couldn't keep me away if you tried," Margot smiled, turning away; a flash of leg showing amidst the folds of her dress. "After all, you're my hero, aren't you?"

\------

After Margot left, Will felt even more restless and on edge than before; wandering the house, room to room, unable to sit or focus on anything. Winston followed behind him, curious and nervous; ears cocked and tail still held low. The house almost felt like a breathing, waiting entity as the afternoon stretched on; filled with long shadows and so much terrible silence. This quiet seemed to assume weight, and it pressed down on Will until he was a small bundle of nerves.

When he couldn't take it anymore, he took the pain medication Hannibal had left, very relieved when it kicked in and he was met with a sudden euphoria; heartbeat slowing down and his mind finally settling. Lying on the couch, he watched the sunshine grow duskier while attempting to read, but soon his book was tipping forward and his head nodding. Finally, he slept, and it was deep and blissfully devoid of dreams.

When he woke, the room was dark and he had to fight to remember where he was; mouth dry and head heavy. He stood and his limbs ached, muscles tight until he stretched them out. Looking around, Winston was nowhere to be seen, and Will went to search for him.

"Winston?" he called, coming into the kitchen. Barefooted, the floorboards were cool against his skin, and as he wandered he felt the skin of his neck prickling. He almost got the sense that he was being watched, like even the walls of the large, imposing home were full of eyes.

Hannibal's eyes.

He supposed it made sense. At times it almost seemed like Hannibal was everywhere at once; omnipotent, powerful. To Will's mind, he bordered on being akin to a mythical creature.

"Ridiculous," he muttered, listening for Winston's paws on the floor. All was silent, save for the air conditioning, and Will's heart in his ears; blood rushing. He still felt a little loose from the medicine he'd taken, but was more or less alert. Glancing toward the doorway that led to the room off the kitchen, he was surprised to see the door ajar.

 _He never leaves that door open_ , he thought, going toward it.

In fact, Hannibal had kept that door locked until Will had curiously asked about it, and the doctor had taken him on a tour. He'd given Will a thoughtful look at the time.

"I can trust you, can't I?" he'd asked, placing a hand on Will's shoulder; warming him through his tshirt.

Will had assured him that he could trust him; had wanted nothing more than to be taken into the man's confidence. Hannibal had appeared pleased, and after he'd shown Will his wines and assorted equipment; the large fridge with the clear glass doors, had left the room unlocked after they'd departed.

"You have my permission to go in there as long as you're respectful," he'd said, giving Will a look full of a dark meaning the boy had been unable to interpret.

Now the door was open and Will had to figure that Winston had found his way in there. He sighed and pushed inside, snapping on the light. Blinking against the sudden brightness, Will could see that the room was empty, but there was a telltale puddle on the floor and he groaned.

"Really, Winston? All over the goddamn floor?"

The urine was fresh, spreading out over the wood and marring the perfection of Hannibal's well-scrubbed floor. Coming forward, Will wrinkled his nose and thought about how the doctor would react to this, especially after he'd been accommodating enough to let him keep the dog in the first place. Annoyed, Will looked down at the mess, readying to clean it up when he noticed something odd.

A dripping noise, but far away, where the urine trickled into the cracks between the floorboards -

A faint sound, subterranean, and right beneath his feet. Will considered this, eyebrows raised.

 _Plink. Plink. Plink._ Almost like little notes of music.

 _I didn't know he had a basement_ , he thought, continuing to listen to the droplets fall. _Or maybe a cellar?_

Looking around, his eyes fell on a large oriental rug obscuring a portion of the floor, and something in his head just clicked. He wasn't sure how he knew, but every instinct inside of him was telling Will that the entrance to whatever room was below him was right there, waiting. All he had to do was go to the rug, lift it, and then -

This thought was interrupted by something Hannibal had once told him, and Will could remember how serious he'd been when saying it. The warmth had fled the doctor's face in that moment, not becoming fierce but there had been a subtle note of warning.

A clear message.

_"I would ask that you consult me before going into certain places inside my home."_

Stepping around the puddle, Will approached the rug with trepidation, but there was also a burning curiosity growing inside of him; starting low in his belly and working its way through his veins. He could just take a peek and Hannibal would never have to know. Nerves buzzing, he lifted the rug and just as he'd suspected, there was a door there; heavily padlocked.

Delicious anticipation rose in him at the sight of that door, speaking of secrets, of unknown places and finally learning a little bit more about his mysterious host. The lock itself would be easy enough to pick, just like he'd done with Hannibal's trashcans.

 _He'd never have to know_ , he repeated to himself. _And really, it's his own fault. If he'd just give me something to work with, but he_ won't _._

Crouching down, Will touched the lock, itching to pick it because it'd just be so simple. He could even see himself doing it, and then he could explore to his heart's content.

 _There's a reason he never told you about a basement_ , his mind whispered to him, stealing some of his excitement and replacing it with unease. Guilt. _You told him he could trust you. He does trust you. That's why he left the door unlocked._

Trying to ignore these thoughts, Will thought of kissing Hannibal and being pushed away; kept at arm's length. If the doctor trusted him so much, why hadn't he told him about this place? What was the big deal, anyway? It was just another room, wasn't it?

Creeping through this logic came more sinister considerations, though. The late nights, Hannibal's strange explanations for his whereabouts; his evasiveness for no reason. Will couldn't help but feel a slight sense of dread rising up. True, he'd never felt afraid of Hannibal, not really, but everything he'd seen was starting to take on a twisted, unsettling dimension.

It was then that he felt a pressure in the small of his back and he nearly yelled, whirling around to see Winston standing there and whining softly. Pressing a hand to his heart, Will closed his eyes and tried to take deep, cleansing breaths, suddenly aware of just how _nervous_ he felt, and he couldn't really say why.

Something just didn't feel right about this situation, and he was starting to view the room in a dreamlike way; like nothing he was seeing was real. Everything was vapor, black and dense.

"Why'd you have to come in here in the first place?" Will asked Winston, noticing that the dog's tail was now between his legs. This detail alone was enough to make his mouth feel very dry.

Whining louder, Winston slowly padded to the uncovered door and pawed at it, whimpering pathetically. Cold fingers dragged themselves down Will's back at the sound and he rose. Real fear, sharp and frantic, made his skin feel too tight, almost painful, and suddenly he just wanted to be away; content to let Hannibal's secrets hide themselves for the moment.

_I'll just clean up the mess and go. I won't say anything and Hannibal will never know, and everything can just go back to normal. No harm, no -_

"May I ask what you're doing, Will?"

Freezing, Will clapped a hand to his mouth when he heard the accented voice speak from behind him, very close, and he turned slowly -

Hannibal stood there, tall and so terribly solid, imposing, as he gazed down at Will with his typical expression; passive, but his eyes, oh, his _eyes_ -

Mouthing wordlessly, Will wanted to move but he couldn't, and when he looked down he saw that Hannibal had taken off his shoes, almost like he'd wanted to be as quiet as possible when entering the room. Nausea rose in him at this thought, and Will still couldn't make his body respond, limbs like dead things that refused to obey. A faint sound emanated from his throat, and it almost sounded inhuman.

Looking over Will's shoulder, Hannibal seemed to take in the sight of the disturbed rug and he frowned. Disappointment washed through his features, and that hurt almost more than the fear. Winston cowered next to Will's legs, trembling lightly.

"Will?" he murmured, reaching out to gently cup Will's face, as tender and soft as the night before. "What were you planning on doing? Tell me."

Staring up at him, Will still couldn't speak. In that moment, Hannibal seemed nothing like the man who'd held him so close, who'd played the harpsichord late at night to help lull him to sleep; cooking for him and doting, watching with those warm whiskey-colored eyes filled with a latent affection.

It was then that Will realized he truly didn't know this person at all, and the knowledge made him collapse on the inside; cold and lost. Shaking his head, he didn't know what to say. What he felt was too large for words -

Trapped. Afraid. And yet, he still loved the feeling of Hannibal's hand on him; hot, commanding. Will trembled to feel it and closed his eyes, surrendering to whatever Hannibal had in store for him; waiting. A soft sigh met his ears, and Hannibal's thumb was running gently over his parted mouth.

"Dear boy, my Will," he murmured, his voice honey-sweet and low but still so different from normal. "What am I going to do with you?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made so many references to the show in this chapter, lol; I couldn't resist. One of them is VERY obvious xD
> 
> Also, I have no idea where the entrance is to Hannibal's basement, you guys, so I'm just guessing here. I even rewatched the ep where Hannibal finds bev in his house and no dice. 🤷♀️🤷♀️


	9. hannibal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I've been depressed so it's been hard to write, but I missed our murder husbands so much that I just kept trying, lol. 
> 
> I'm sorry if this is lacking, but I love the little moments between Will and Hannibal so much. ❤
> 
> PS: thank you for the comments on the last chapter. ☺ they made me so happy!! 
> 
> PPS: anyone else feel kind of bad for Franklyn? Poor thing was just so clueless, lol. He's fun to write, though 😆

_**Baby, I'm a sociopath** _   
_**Sweet serial killer** _

_**On the warpath** _   
_**'Cause I love you just a little too much** _   
_**I love you just a little too much** _

_**\- Serial Killer, Lana Del Ray** _

* * *

The afternoon was turning out to be a long and winding road, endless and meandering.

Hannibal considered this thought, watching the sunlight stretch across the floor, only half- listening to Franklyn's ramblings. The man was in his element today, particularly emotional, but at least he wasn't crying - yet.

Dust motes waltzed through the shaft of soft, yellow light. Hannibal followed with his eyes, remembering the way the sunshine had reflected off of Will's curls just that morning. Petulant, moody boy.

He couldn't help but adore him even when he was in a mood, but he confused Hannibal as well. Everything about his current situation intrigued him, left him guessing; an unusual occurrence. That almost never happened.

Not until Will.

"Doctor?"

Hannibal had been thinking of Will's warm mouth against his own, needy and brave, of having to refuse him, when he looked away from the light to see Franklyn staring at him with his expectant basset hound eyes. Hannibal remained inscrutable, his usually controlled irritation with the man shifting into a higher, more noticeable gear.

"Yes, Franklyn?"

"You didn't hear my question?" the man asked, and that wounded expression seeped into his look. It passed quickly. "It's my fault," he hurried on, pressing a white, pudgy hand against his chest. "I was carrying on so it probably got lost in the middle somewhere." He laughed, an uncomfortable sound. "Lost in the shuffle, so to speak. It happens all the time to me."

Will had appeared carefree and almost happy until he'd noticed Hannibal watching him, washing the dog in the front yard; rainbows arcing through the haze of hose water. It was like a veil had been dropped over his mood, darkening it.

Hannibal shifted again, smoothing his pants down when he recrossed his legs. He fixed Franklyn with an impassive stare. "What was your question?"

"Oh, well, I was just wondering the last time you can remember being truly happy?" Franklyn asked, suddenly so animated. He was always so obvious with his hunger to know his psychiatrist more intimately, constantly attempting to blur the lines between them.

Hannibal, his face remaining neutral and smooth, could imagine cracking the man's neck like a piece of kindling; easily, and without ceremony.

"My memories are inconsequential to your therapy, we've talked about this," Hannibal replied gently, and for a moment he was back in bed, Will lying beside him and fast asleep. Outside, the night was deep and quiet; full of stars and humming cicadas. "Although, I'd like to hear your answer to that question."

Franklyn blinked, clearly hurt from yet another rebuff, but he soldiered on like a good, little drone. "Happy? Wow, what a staggering concept, huh? So many of us treat it like a destination but, man, isn't it..." he licked his lips, "Isn't it really about the journey? Right?"

Hannibal stared at him, and waited.

"I guess, if I had to pin a moment down, it'd be the memories that come to me at the most random times... when I'm on the phone with a client, or I'm stuck in traffic," Franklyn went on, sitting back. "You know, not exactly bad times, but during days where I'd rather be doing something else. Like," he waved a hand, "when I was a kid, I'd visit my grandparents during the summer... my father's folks," he added, like it truly made a difference. "And they lived in this great cabin by a canal, up near Seattle. Hood."

He shook his head, looking toward the window. "I can see it, you know? In those moments where I'd rather be anywhere other than where I am? I can see the green water and smell the salt, I can see the pine trees and their boat bobbing at the end of the dock? I can see my grandpa sitting in his rocking chair at the end of the day, drinking a gin and tonic and eating a mix of peanuts and pretzels. I can see it all, and it's like I'm there again. Like I've gone home."

Hannibal smiled slowly, as he always did when he was in the presence of unabashed, uncalled for sentimentality.

"You wanted to talk about those memories," he said. "Why else would you pose that question? You knew i wouldn't answer... that I'd want yours instead."

With obviously feigned modesty, Franklyn smiled, ducking his head. "You always know how to read me, Dr. Lecter. Am I that transparent?"

He sighed. "I was thinking of my mother and feeling guilty. That's always the first thing i feel when I think about her. Which made me wonder, was I ever happy when I was around her as a kid, and then I thought of the canal, and I was always happy there. That was my train of thought. Silly, huh?"

Hannibal pressed his fingertips together. "Tell me about your mother."

Shrugging, Franklyn attempted to cross his legs, obviously uncomfortable with the position but seemingly trying to mirror Hannibal's posture.

Hannibal remained serene in appearance.

"What can i say about my mother?" Franklyn asked. "Really, what can anyone say about their mother, huh? It's all so Freudian, isn't it?"

Hannibal stared at him. "I suppose."

"Okay, here's something nice about her, more or less," Franklyn replied, rubbing a hand through his hair, mussing it. "My mother, when I was a kid, had this really pretty light brown hair, and she wore it long. Down to the middle of her back." He looked out the window again, wistful. "And after she'd wash it, she'd go out on the deck, when it was sunny anyway, and brush it out... let it dry naturally, and the wind would just toss it around. And she'd close her eyes and look so...i don't know, content in that moment. You know what i mean?"

Hannibal nodded. "You liked seeing her that way. Did it make you feel content as well?"

"Well, yeah," Franklyn snorted, "it meant she wasn't yelling at me... at least for the moment."

"Hmm." Hannibal took this information and digested it, only partially with regards to Franklyn's situation. Not for the first time, he couldn't help but wonder about Will's mother. Even now, he'd spoken of her only in passing.

Looking down, Hannibal checked his watch and almost sighed to see that Franklyn's hour was over.

"I know that look," Franklyn said, his tone becoming almost mournful. "You're kicking me out, huh?"

Hannibal stood, rebuttoning his suit jacket as he did so. "I'm not kicking you out so much as I'm giving you a gentle nudge from the nest, Franklyn. It's up to you to fly, as it were."

"Only if you're the wind beneath my wings, doctor," the man replied, scrambling from his chair. He laughed weakly when he saw Hannibal's deadpan expression. "T-that was a joke." He sighed, standing aside when Hannibal opened the door for him. "Sorry. You know, my mother always told me my sense of humor was lacking...i guess she was right."

"Honest to a fault, mothers," Hannibal replied, his fingers flexing slightly. "I'll see you next week."

"Right." Waving, Franklyn almost tripped when he turned away, catching himself and glancing back at the doctor, frowning to see his ungraceful display had been witnessed. "My mother also said I was clumsy," he commented, sounding apologetic.

Wordlessly, Hannibal nodded and stepped back into his office, shutting the door. Once alone, he let out a deep breath and looked around, noticing the sunlight stretching longer now; an unusual restlessness moving through him that he wasn't accustomed to so soon after a hunt.

He glanced at the phone on his desk, Franklyn's voice popping uninvited into his thoughts:

_"I was just wondering the last time you can remember being truly happy?"_

Striding over, he sat at his desk, still as a statue and thoughtful. Maybe he'd clear his schedule for the rest of the day. Yes, it would be discourteous to his patients, but these were unique circumstances, weren't they?

"I'll surprise him with an outing," he murmured, making a decision quickly that altogether pleased him. The twinge in his middle began to wane. "That should help put matters to rights."

\------

After tying up loose ends and battling traffic, the sky was beginning to darken by the time Hannibal made it home, feeling more at his ease than he had all day. It was unlike him to be unsettled in any capacity, which only made him more curious and entranced by the boy. 

But when he stepped into the foyer and felt the stillness in the air, the hush, Hannibal's instincts kicked into overdrive and he was immediately on his guard. There weren't any lights on and the house was filled with cool shadow, the hum of the air conditioning and the fridge meeting his ears like insects buzzing. 

Something didn't feel right. 

As was typical, Hannibal checked the library and the front room first, the two places where Will usually took his leisure, lounging and reading; sometimes falling into a cat nap as the long summer hours passed. When he was nowhere to be found, Hannibal considered checking his room, but something in him, his honed ability to stalk and find, told him that Will would not be upstairs. 

And what of the dog, Will's loyal shadow? Hannibal listened for the telltale click of nails on the hardwood floors, but no such sound greeted him. 

Lifting his face, Hannibal's acutely sensitive nose picked through the scents layered on the air; lemon, wood, threads of coffee from that morning, and then -

Sweat, youthful and acrid. Fearful. Underneath was Will's fragrance, his sweetness, and Hannibal knew he was near. Was he hiding? Or was he someplace he wasn't supposed to be?

A minute thread of suspicion moved through Hannibal like a fish swimming, followed closely by a vague and dim anger. He tried to quell it, not one to give into rage without just provocation. Rather, he quietly removed his shoes and set them aside, keen eyes adjusting to the dimness as he moved carefully down the hall and into the kitchen. 

Nearly silent, he crept through the empty room to see that everything was as it should be, immaculate, until his eyes fell on the door where he housed his wines and other incidentals; articles he prized and secrets he guarded closely. 

When he saw that the door was ajar, a stillness passed through him, and he could feel his heart slowing down. He was preparing himself, he knew, almost on instinct alone. Every part of his body tensed and coiled, and he willed his mind to be calm and at attention. 

Tiny rustlings could be heard as Hannibal slowly approached the door, Will's voice very soft and -

Hannibal stopped and listened for a moment:

"Why'd you have to come in here in the first place?"

There was tangible fear in the boy's tone, and then the pathetic whining of the dog, and Hannibal almost allowed himself to relax. True, Will obviously felt ill at ease, his own sensitive instincts no doubt going haywire, knowing on some level that something was awry with that room but unable to comprehend what -

But it would seem that he hadn't gone into the room of his own accord, to snoop and abuse Hannibal's trust. No, he'd merely followed the dog, and it wasn't as if the room was off-limits. Hannibal let his hands loosen slightly. 

On light feet, Hannibal approached the door and slipped through like quicksilver, eyes adjusting in the caustic light falling from the thrumming fridges, and turned to see Will standing with his back to him, the dog pawing and worrying at the door situated in the floor. 

Something clenched deep in Hannibal's gut. 

The rug had been pushed aside, and Will was contemplating what had been revealed. Calmly, Hannibal watched for a moment until he spoke softly -

"May i ask what you're doing, Will?"

The boy gasped and turned around, and Hannibal had never seen such a look of abject terror on Will's face, eyes wide - stricken - and his skin white like paper. He had become a small animal suddenly, defenseless and caught in the pull of its own immobilizing fear. A whine broke through his lips, pitiful and familiar. 

Hannibal had heard that sound from others many times. He almost got the impression that it was involuntary...a sound the desperate made when begging for mercy. 

Hannibal made a point of flicking his eyes over Will's shoulder, at the exposed door, to show that he'd seen, that he _knew_ -

He felt his face falling into disappointment as his stomach continued to clench; deep muscles in his core. Hannibal attempted to soften, though his hand, the one that didn't reach out to cup Will's soft cheek flexed and curled into a fist close at his side. 

"Will, what were you thinking of doing? Tell me." Slowly he dragged his thumb along the curve of the boy's face.

Will shuddered under this touch, whole body vibrating, and instead of speaking he closed his eyes, taking on a stance of almost subliminal surrender. 

It was beautiful, this blind, open trust ripening beneath his hand, and Hannibal couldn't help but sigh, that deep, predator's reaction quieting somewhat in his core. This relieved him, because really, he wasn't relishing what he may have had to do based on Will's response; if it had proven unfavorable. 

"Dear boy," he almost purred, pleased and wanting to pull Will close, "what am I going to do with you?"

Instead of offering excuses, Will's eyelids fluttered open and he pressed his face deeper into Hannibal's hand, turning just so until his lips almost brushed the doctors skin. 

"You're home early," he murmured. "I didn't expect you until later."

"Does that displease you?"

"I prefer it when you're here," Will said softly, some pink color filtering back into his cheeks. 

Studying him closely, Hannibal glanced at the disturbed rug again and raised his eyebrows. He waited, taking note of the dog still pressed closely against Will's legs. It trembled. 

"I'm relieved to see that you've found a way to occupy yourselves while I'm away, at least," he said wryly, very curious to see how Will would handle the fallout of this situation. It would be very telling. 

"Winston was curious about this room, I guess," Will muttered, patting the creature's head. "And then he made a mess," he added, gesturing to the puddle on the floor. 

Hannibal looked at it with disdain, hardly put off by such substances, not after the things he'd seen and done, but it was the principle of the matter. He looked again at the dog, knowing its instincts had led it to this place. 

It was hardly surprising. 

"I'll clean it up," Will said, pulling away slowly, skin still very white, almost glacial-appearing, which called to attention the angry red of the wound on his forehead. Hannibal brushed soft brown curls from it to get a better look. 

"Dear boy," he said quietly, "i wanted to take you somewhere this evening as a surprise, but if your injury is bothering you -"

"No, it isn't," Will said quickly. "Please, let's go somewhere. Together."

"Well, if you're sure."

"I am," Will said, nudging the dog gently away to take a few tenuous steps back. Kneeling, he took up the rug in hands that appeared to be shaking, and he slowly moved to put it to rights, catching Hannibal's eye for a moment. A shadow moved through those vivid blue irises, ripe with questions and curiosity -

And obvious fear. Latent, but there. 

He paused, looking at the door in the floor again before he covered it, all while Hannibal watched, waiting for a question - anything - but Will didn't say a word. 

Remarkable, curious boy. Hannibal simply never knew what to expect from him. 

\------

The house was quiet as they each readied themselves for an evening out. Will took a bath and Hannibal showered, washing away the sweat and fatigue of the day, and when they reconvened they were both dressed to go out; hannibal in one of his impeccable three piece suits (navy blue with a deep red tie) and Will in a dress shirt and slacks. 

"Where are we going, anyway?" Will asked, pulling at his collar and making it obvious that he was unaccustomed to his current attire. 

Hannibal was charmed at the sight of Will in expensive clothing, tailored and finely made. It accentuated him, of course, his natural beauty, but he knew that the boy was wearing it for him, to please him. It touched him and made him feel tender in a way that was typically foreign. 

"The theater," he said, drawing Will into the light to make sure that his wound was healing well. "I've season tickets for the Hippodrome, and tonight they are doing Aida."

"The opera?" Will asked, tilting his head obediently; stoic while Hannibal's skilled fingers touched him. 

"Yes," Hannibal replied, wanting to press a kiss to Will's smooth forehead but refraining. "Have you been?"

Will snorted and have Hannibal a look. "I went for a field trip once, in elementary school. Madame Butterfly."

"One of my favorites," Hannibal replied, taking his hands away. Will was healing well; a fact that pleased him immensely. 

"It made me sad, how unfair it was," Will said, looking up at him with that expression of trust again. "I was the only one in my class that cried, and the other kids never let me live it down."

"Children can be cruel."

Will scowled as they made their way to the door, after he'd seen to Winston, who didn't seem too keen on letting his master out of his sights. Finally, he conceded when Will gently coaxed him to lie down. 

"I was considered overly sensitive for my age," he said as they stepped into the falling twilight, the stars just beginning to come out one by one in tiny flickers. The air was muggy, typical of late August. "And for whatever reason that was like blood in the water to the others."

"Children are taught empathy, they aren't born with it," hannibal mused, pressing a hand to Will's back as he guided him into the front seat of the Bentley. He watched him for a moment, settling in. "Some develop more than others over time."

"Well, it's not always beneficial, I can tell you that much," the boy muttered, looking out the window when Hannibal climbed behind the wheel. "I almost feel like I'm walking through the world without any skin sometimes... like all of my nerves are constantly exposed."

Being unable to truly relate, Hannibal was intrigued. "I suspected as much, given your response to Margot's plight. It would seem you have a gift of sorts."

"Gift, right," Will replied, turning to give him a look. "Disorder's more like it."

Hannibal smiled, his interest in Will steadily being reinforced as the weeks passed. "That remains to be seen." 

Silence descended between them, punctuated by the Chopin nocturne playing softly in the background. Hannibal let it gather for a moment before he spoke again, as always gauging Will's response. "We've a decision to make. Or, to be more precise, you do, Will."

Will cocked his head, almost looking like Winston for a moment. "What do you mean?"

"Well, I've chosen our destination for this evening, but that doesn't mean you shouldn't have a say in where we dine."

Blinking, Will seemed to consider this, almost incredulous. "Wait, you're actually going to eat something you didn't prepare yourself?"

Shifting into the fast lane, Hannibal nodded. "This surprises you?"

Will made an impolite sound with his mouth. "Hannibal, of course it does. I've never seen anyone so controlling about what they eat."

"True, I'm very discerning, but I'm also open minded." He kept his face smooth. "More open minded than most people, really. And I'm interested to see where you'll choose to go."

Settling back, Will crossed his arms. "I've noticed that about you, by the way. Your insatiable curiosity. It's almost like a driving force... at least that's the impression I get."

Amused, Hannibal was quick to reply, "it would seem we have that in common."

His implication, playfully intended, didn't seem to be lost on Will. A flush built in his cheeks and he sunk lower in his seat. "I wanted to look," he said softly, "i almost did, but I thought better of it."

He looked over, expression serious. 

"Can you blame me? I barely know anything about you. After all this time."

"It's only been a little more than a month," Hannibal reminded him gently, hands tightening on the steering wheel. A strange feeling was welling in his chest, making it tight, but it wasn't uncomfortable; not exactly. 

Will's face softened then, became exquisitely vulnerable, eyes large and shadowed. Hannibal couldn't help but consider him beautiful in that moment. 

"It feels like a lot longer than that," he murmured, the flush in his cheeks blooming to become red roses. "It almost seems like it's been a lifetime, me being with you."

Unable to help himself, Hannibal reached over to touch Will's hand lightly, wanting to lift it to to his lips and kiss it. Somehow, he didn't, but he was left feeling hollow with want. 

"I will show myself to you, allow you to see me, if you can do the same," Hannibal said, thinking of the door Will had uncovered. Many would think that it led to a room compromised solely of nightmares, another world built on the backs of screams and misery -

But maybe, just maybe, Will could see beyond first impressions, could see the world through Hannibal's eyes. He couldn't even fathom such a thing; being _seen_ , and what's more -

Being accepted. 

Will was quiet then, looking out the window to the scatters of stars drifting in the dusky night sky; contemplating and thoughtful. Finally, he lay his hand on Hannibal's, not squeezing but resting its warm, reassuring weight there. He smiled one of his rare, true smiles, though it still seemed rife with melancholy. 

"I'll try," he said simply, and Hannibal almost didn't recognize the emotion that welled in him then, Franklyn's question from earlier pushing its way into his thoughts out of nowhere; uninvited:

_"I was just wondering the last time you can remember being truly happy?"_

Hannibal held Will's hand to his mouth then, not kissing, but the desire was there, strong and almost primal. Rather than give in, he softly spoke, his words hushed and curling against Will's skin, " _post proelium, praemium*_." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *After the battle, the reward. 
> 
> Oh, Hannibal and your penchant for throwing out Latin at the most random times, lmao 🤣


End file.
